


The Essence of Existence

by BWJournal



Category: Castle, The X-Files
Genre: Alien Mythology/Religion, Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-29 16:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 156,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19404373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BWJournal/pseuds/BWJournal
Summary: What happens when your beliefs are questioned? When everything that you held as true changes in the most unexpected of ways? Will you hold that hand until the end? Set on December 2012 - Midway Season 5 of Castle, previous to The X-Files revival. Fic Complete - Previously posted at FFN. Originally written for DancingDragon42 for the Secret Santa Fanfic Challenge 2012.





	1. Chapter 1

There's something about approaching a new crime scene that always makes her heart rate speed up; the anticipation of what she's about to embark on, the complexity of the next case, the imminent reflection of what people can do to one another.

Beckett parks her Charger in one of the empty spaces in front of the diner; it's an old place, one of those that often remind her of times when things were simpler, filled with mementos from the fifties, good ol' American burgers and fries and the staple waitress that uses too much hairspray for her own good.

"You think it would be too much to ask if I tried to get them to make me a loaded grilled cheese?" Castle tries to lighten the mood while they cross the police tape that restricts the access to the crime scene. She rolls her eyes at him but only because she's also starving. He rolls his eyes back at her, humorously. "You never know…"

"I'd settle for coffee, Castle." She'd also rather be back in his loft, buried under the heavy goose down comforter and letting him embrace her until sleeps finds her. No such luck tonight. Lanie kneels by one of the bodies; a woman in her late forties, she is dressed demurely, the fabric of her blouse is a floral pattern that contrasts with the blood that splattered from the gunshot to her head.

"This is Mrs. Jane Van de Kamp, forty nine years old." Esposito introduces the victim, while Beckett and Castle get their bearings. CSU has already taken over, dusting the surfaces and taking pictures of the scene; uniformed officers help Ryan and Karpowski take statements from the witnesses. Javier points to the other body that lays face down at the end of the row of booths. "Her and her late husband over there, Mr. George Van de Kamp, were travelling all the way from Wyoming with their ten year old son."

"What happened?" Kate focuses on the woman; her expression is frozen in surprise, cloudy brown eyes, chesnut hair peppered with grey, the strands mused in disarray.

"I'd say that by the size of the wound it was a nine millimeter," Lanie says, beginning her assessment of the victim, "she died instantly. Her husband was shot in the back, probably trying to escape and protect the kid. By the location of the entry wound, I'd say that the bullet hit the heart. He didn't stand a chance."

"What about their son?" Castle asks, concerned, his fatherly nature always on the surface when it came to cases like these.

"The owner of the diner took him and they hid in the freezer," Esposito explains, pointing at the old man being questioned by Ryan, "It was just so lucky that Karpowski was here. She had ended her shift and was picking up some dinner on her way home."

The female detective joins them, nursing a coffee, looking a little shaken and giving a silent nod to her colleagues.

"That was one hell of a scare," Karpowski comments, rolling her neck and looking at the aftermath of the shooting.

"Did you see the shooter?" Kate asks the woman but she shakes her head.

"I did, but it won't be really useful," the female detective continues, ushering them to the place where she was standing at the time of the shooting, "I took out my gun the minute I heard the first scream from one of the patrons who saw the mother fall with the first shot. The father took the kid and they rushed towards me when the next shots occurred. They were shooting from a black SUV; the guy had a black ski mask, and he was good – as in government-trained good, 'cause the shots followed Mr. Van de Kamp with precision, until he fell."

They walk the trajectory of the story, paying attention to the couple of extra shots that had failed to hit their target.

"I fired back at the SUV, I know I hit him, because no more shots were fired from that direction, but then a second perp came through the door. I don't think they were expecting me." Kate exchanges confused looks with her. This doesn't make any sense.

"What's the point of all this?" Castle sounds surprised and she knows that he has all the reasons to be. A dark SUV that screams hired assassins doesn't match the victims.

"Beats me, man." Karpowski responds, at a loss for better words, "I just know that I gotta thank this place for having just the one door. I think the guy saw that he had no chance going through this narrow path and me; I had my piece trained on him. If he planed to kill the kid, he'd have to be faster than me pulling the trigger."

"Did you shoot at him?" Beckett asks, picturing the situation as she hears the story.

"I did, but he was definitely wearing a vest, I shot him straight on the chest." Castle trades looks with Karpowski, she's as impressed as he is at this situation. "He recoiled, reconsidered and ran out back to the truck, skidding fast on the slush out front."

Esposito and Ryan have joined their huddle by the end of the bar, listening to their colleague's recollection.

"So it seems like late Mr. Van De Kamp was a farmer, according to a couple of cards from some associations back in Wyoming…" Javier informs, showing them the bagged contents of the Man's wallet and documents, "and the Mrs… well she only has family pictures in her wallet, some over–the-counter pain killers; nothing that screams anything suspicious."

"But… now we know what these folks were doing here." Ryan interjects, "the Van de Kamps were on their way to JFK. They were leaving on the red eye; final destination: Morocco."

Ryan hands Beckett the plane tickets and passports. "They were stashed in their car; the '91 Jeep Wagoneer is loaded with a couple of suitcases, canned food and camping equipment."

"Morocco? Camping equipment?" Castle asks, surprised. "What kind of character would make sense with these details?"

"Well, you're the writer, bro." Esposito points out, joining in with his frustration.

"Organic farmers turned nomads, escaping… assassins hired by… the food industry?" Castle makes an effort to come up with a theory, but his expression matches Beckett's; not even he can believe in that scenario.

"They were after the kid." Kate states, sure of herself, solemn. "That's the only explanation."

"How do you gather?" Karpowski is curious. Kate walks to the booth, looking at the leftovers of what had been their meal; a couple of meatloaf entrees and a bowl of mac & cheese rest on the table, showered with shards of glass and drops of blood. And a drawing, lying lonely on top of a child sized jacket. She takes it, the crayon strokes building a pattern in different colors, an abstract combination of shapes and lines.

"Why risk coming in here?" Beckett responds, sober and grave, still examining the lines on the piece of paper. "If they were so good, they knew that they had killed the parents already. Either they wanted to take the kid with them, or it was really important to finish him as well."

The magnitude of her statement weighs heavy on her partners; she can tell that her theory fits a level of malice that they might not want to face right now, in the middle of the Christmas season, when everyone should be filled with joy and happiness.

"Well, Happy Holidays to you too, Beckett." Karpowski says, her sarcasm trying to make light of the gravity of her statement.

"How's the kid doing?" Castle asks.

"Surprisingly calm." Esposito responds, "Hastings is with him back in the kitchen, he had a couple of scratches but the paramedics already took care of it."

Castle trades a look with Beckett. She knows that look, the silent question behind it, 'Are you ready for this?' She'll always be, but then again, she never is. She'll have to tell another child that he's parentless, and she knows how that feels.

* * *

William Van de Kamp sits on a stool while Officer Hastings keeps vigil right next to him, giving a sad smile to Beckett and Castle as they approach. The boy sports a blank expression, his blue eyes focused on the grimy floor of the kitchen. The messy strands of his light brown hair frame his face, a little longer than your regular boyish hairstyle, making him look different, interesting. He has a bandage on his forehead and one on his left hand that cradles a steamy cup of hot chocolate.

He doesn't react to them. Kate takes a deep breath as she eyes Castle; she might need him for this.

"Hey William, this is Detective Beckett, a friend of mine," Hastings tries to ease the kid to their presence, "and Mr. Castle. He's a writer, a very good one."

Both Castle and Beckett share sympathetic smiles with the officer and the boy. He lifts his gaze in their direction; he looks tired, and Kate can see what are clearly tear-stained cheeks. He's scared, but he's braving it out.

"Hi, William," she says, extending her hand to him for a shake. He responds, politely, without uttering a word, making eye contact and holding her gaze.

"Hello." His voice is small and brings another level of reality to this situation. Castle extends his hand as well and the boy shakes it with strength he didn't expect.

"How are you feeling? How's the head?" Castle asks, trying to bond with the boy.

"I'm ok. Doesn't hurt." William says, shrugging his shoulders.

"Look, William," Kate begins, carefully. "Would it be okay if we talked to you for a little bit?"

"They're dead, right?" The kid's question comes more like a statement than a legitimate query. Resigned. Tired. What has this kid seen that he reacts to this situation like that?

"Yes." Kate confirms; honesty might be the best way with him. He might be more mature than they assessed, maybe a product of a lifestyle that isn't quite the peaceful picture of a countryside farm. "Do you think that you're up for a ride to our precinct? Have a little conversation with us? It definitely smells better than this place. We'll have Officer Hastings bring your things to us."

The kid bites his lip, considering her offer, his eyes darting between her and Castle. His stare is deep, he's examining them, and Kate wonders if he's evaluating how much he can trust these strangers that now seem to have control over his fate. His next question though, catches her off guard.

"Can you turn around and show me your neck?" He's dead serious and Castle throws her a confused look. She signals her partner to humor the kid and turns around, taking off her scarf and swiping her hair out of the way.

William gives his cup to Hastings and climbs on top of the stool; she nervously reaches out to him but he dismisses her, the kid can do it on his own. He carefully pushes Kate's shirt collar down, placing the flat of his hand on her skin. His touch is gentle but with purpose, pushing on the fine bones of the back of her neck. She doesn't understand what he's doing but she needs to connect with this kid if they want him to trust them.

He pulls back and fixes her collar, directing his attention now to Castle, who has been witnessing this exchange. He follows Kate's lead and does the same, letting the kid examine him.

After a few seconds of careful examination, William lets go of the writer's neck and climbs down off the stool, grabbing the hot chocolate from Hastings' hands. Castle and Beckett are a little rattled by the boy's demeanor, 'this must be some sort of coping mechanism,' she thinks as she readjusts the scarf around her neck.

"I'm going to need my jacket," William points out to Beckett, business like in tone and shifting his attention to his drink.

"Yes, you are," Kate responds looking at Castle. He's sporting the same question in his eyes.

_What have they gotten themselves into?_


	2. Chapter 2

The car ride to the 12th is quiet, too quiet for his liking, but Castle knows that right now is not the best time to try to elaborate on all the crazy theories he's been formulating.

He's been observing the boy through the rearview mirror; he sits still in the back seat, staring at the snow-covered streets through the window. He has to be in shock, he thinks, a reaction to this horrific moment. Either that, or they're in the presence of a child that has lost all of his ability to express grief. 'Autism?' he wonders. No, he wouldn't have trusted them. Super-secret, child CIA agent… maybe he should call his guy and test that theory.

The car enters the garage of the precinct and Beckett parks in her usual spot, killing the engine, the silence suddenly a bit deafening. She unlocks her seatbelt and looks at the boy through her mirror. He's still staring out the window, curiously looking at the deserted parking garage.

Beckett turns to Castle, her lips a tight line, and he grabs the hand that reaches out to him. He reassures her with a silent look. _You can do this._

As they climb out of the car, Castle observes how the boy carefully studies his surroundings. Everything must be so interesting to him, and he remembers how it felt when he used to be this age, the wonder of the discovery.

Every time that his mother had begun a new play, he'd find himself being hauled into a new theater that he'd never been before, new dark hallways to explore, secret rooms and doors that were waiting to be opened; especially exciting, and equally disconcerting when they harbored the possibility of unraveling a mystery… or a scantly clad girl adjusting her tights.

The chime of the elevator doors announces they've reached the 4th floor and Kate ushers William gently out of it.

"This is our precinct," she announces. "We work here." They'd phoned in from the road to request a Child Services caseworker and luckily they'd sent Angela Jenkins, one of Castle's favorites. She's kind, understanding and has a good hand for pre-teens. They walk towards the almost desolated bullpen; almost everyone is out for the night or at a crime scene. The woman is standing by Gates' office door, examining her paperwork.

"This is where the detectives sit?" Curiosity is in the boy's voice as he swipes his hand over Kate's nameplate. Angela approaches them and shakes Castle's hand.

"Yes, NYPD detectives." Kate's voice is reassuring, warm as she smiles at the caseworker in a silent greeting. "This is my desk. Care for an M&M?" she says, grabbing her candy filled bowl.

"Thanks," he says, picking a couple of pellets.

"You can grab more, it's okay." She offers with a smile.

"That's okay; I only eat the green ones," he says, popping the candies in his mouth. Castle smiles at the kid, if anything, this boy's quite the character.

"I'm more of a red ones kind of guy," Castle says as he reaches into the bowl.

"Where's your desk?" William asks him, looking around the space.

"I usually just sit here," Castle responds, pointing at his usual chair. "Detective Beckett and I like to keep it close."

The boy stares at him and he could swear that there's a small smile creeping onto the boy's lips.

"Hi, William," Angela says, waving her hand carefully at the boy. "I'm Angela Jenkins." He smiles at her, tight lipped. "I'm from social services…" she continues to inform him, "I'm going to help them help you."

"Okay." He's studying her, just like he did with them.

"William, what do you say we go sit in our lounge and chat about what happened?" Kate tries, placing a hand on his shoulder. He nods at her, his eyes fixated on her hand. She lifts his chin, lovingly, and Castle smiles at Kate's warm gesture. She wants to ease this kid and she's doing it right. "It won't be long. I promise we can find you a bed and you can rest after. How does that sound?"

He shrugs and Kate trades looks with Angela. The kid promises to make this very interesting.

* * *

Kate sits right across from the boy, who's sitting cross-legged on the armchair in front of her. He's serene and she wonders about him; this goes beyond any psychological condition, beyond the shock of seeing his parents get shot. There's something about this kid and she needs to know what it is.

"We saw that you guys were going on a trip," she starts. Let him start filling in the blanks, she thinks.

"We've been travelling for a while," he says, nodding. "We left our house a month ago."

"Were you guys on a road trip? Sight seeing?" Kate proposes.

"That's what mom said," he responds with a sad smile. "But it was hard to see anything at night."

"You only travelled at night?" Castle intervenes, his voice soft, curious.

"Yes. Dad said it was best that way," the boy responds resolute, directing his eyes at Castle. William is at ease, he's not nervous and that astounds Kate. He shouldn't be this way.

"And you were camping out?" she asks, trying to put the pieces together.

He nods. Travelling at night, camping during the day; they were definitely running from someone, but what kind of danger could this family be in that they would resort to such dramatic measures?

"I'm sure you stayed in hotels along the way; it's a long road from Wyoming to New York," she coaxes.

"Nope, no hotels," he says, shaking his head. "They're not safe."

"Why do you say that?" Angela joins in the interrogation; she's as intrigued as they are with the kid's stance.

He purses his lips, doesn't respond.

"Were you guys running from someone? Were you in danger?" Castle probes, trying to push him to articulate better answers.

"Yes, all the time; that's why we were going to the place. Away, to the sandy place." They all trade glances at his statement.

"You mean Morocco?" Kate proposes.

"We bought plane tickets. They're waiting for us," William confirms, with a smile.

"Who is?" Kate continues her probe. Maybe this is a religious thing, she thinks. It wouldn't be the first time that a family got involved in a cult that proved to be a dangerous arrangement.

"The people that know of me, the ones that will protect me," he responds and the theory is starting to sound more plausible. She checks with Castle and he nods at her, leading her to continue.

"From who?" She leans closer to William trying to connect with him, trying to get a straight answer. He studies her, and looks at Castle and Angela. They all look at him, expectant, and he leans back on the chair, letting a huff tumble past his lips.

"I don't think you'll understand," he says, his voice infused with a bit of frustration. Kate takes a step back; she can't let her own frustration show, she needs to seem level headed, give this kid a sense of security. It's what he needs right now.

"Look William," she starts. "I know this must be very hard, but we need you to give us more details. I need your help to catch the people that harmed your parents. Can we make that deal?"

She's appealing to the child's evident maturity. Make him part of the process; make him feel that he can do something to change this situation he's found himself in.

"It's okay, you don't want to catch them," he responds calmly, surprising her, and then he continues. "My dad said I should never let them catch me."

He pauses and uncrosses his legs, now leaning into her. "If you find them, they'll know where I am."

His eyes are trained on her; they're so powerful, blue and deep, like Castle's, but there's something behind them, something she can't pinpoint. They seem old and wise, even when this kid has been driving their conversation in a loop. Then she gets it; he knows what he's doing, and this is completely intentional.

"Who is 'They'?" she hears Castle ask again. William doesn't look at him, still fixated on Kate.

"They are the ones that never die," he responds in almost a whisper, finally lowering his gaze at his hands. Kate looks at her partner but Castle shakes his head at her; he has no fatherly tools to coax this kid to give them more useful information. Angela signals them to step out to the hall. They need to regroup.

"We'll be right back," she says, holding William's injured hand for a second and giving him a small smile. She follows Castle and Angela out of the room.

"I think that he's been through a lot and these responses might be a way to react to it," Angela explains. "You might have better luck tomorrow when he's rested and some of the reality of this situation settles in. I'm going to call into one of our open foster homes, see if I can find him a temporary placement."

"Don't you think he'll be more distressed after spending the night with strangers?" Castle asks.

"You know the drill, Castle," Angela responds, a lukewarm expression on her face. "At any rate, he'll be sleeping on a bed instead of in a tent. I'm sure he'll be thankful." She steps away, reaching for her phone.

"This makes me sick to my stomach," Kate says, looking at the boy sitting inside the room. "Just imagining how he must be feeling."

"I know, but there's little that we can do about that right now, Kate," he says, trying to calm her anxiety. She looks at him and knows that he means the best. He's right but she can't shake the feeling that this kid is their responsibility now. If he's indeed in danger, a crowded foster home is not the best place for him.

"I know, I know," she concedes but he reads the distress on her face.

"Do you want me to give it a go? Try to do some man to man bonding?" he tries, but she shakes her head. He gives her a smile and closes the space between them, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Get back in there. I'll go get us some coffee."

She returns the gesture, grazing his arm and goes back into the lounge. William has found her notepad, has doodled shapes and lines that almost cover the whole page.

"You're like me; I always doodle when I get bored," she says, appreciating his handy work.

"They're not doodles," he states, still focused on his work and changing the pen from his right hand to his left, drawing with the same dexterity and skill.

"That's some talent," she says appreciating the child's ability, "I can only draw with my right hand." She continues to look at him, as he rapidly fills every empty space of the sheet.

He takes a deep breath while stopping his repetitive drawing; his eyes fix on hers and he leans in while playing with the pen, intertwining it through his fingers.

"I'm going to tell you a secret," he whispers to her, spiking her interest, and she listens carefully. Maybe all she needed was to be alone with him, to not crowd him with too many prying eyes. "The protectors. Once I get there, then we'll all be safe. Everyone, even you."

"What do you mean?" she asks, wondering what kind of information had been fed to this child, his young mind brainwashed into religious nonsense he wouldn't be able to make sense of.

"The date is coming, and when it's that day, I have to be with them," he explains, so sure of himself, and she takes a deep breath.

"William you have to tell me the truth." She tries to reach out to him. "I can't help you if you don't explain it to me. Help me understand."

William sets the pen down and starts unwrapping the bandage from his hand.

"Oh no, William. Don't do that. You need to keep that covered." She tries to stop him but he shakes her off.

"I don't need it," he says, discarding the bandage and extending his hand to her. "I can heal myself." She examines his hand and she can't believe it. There's no blood, no wound, not even a scratch.

"I thought you had…" he gently shakes her hand away, reaching for the bandage on his forehead and peeling it off to reveal an equally unharmed surface. She grazes the span of the skin, completely healthy, unharmed. "But you-"

"It's always like this," he says, calmly, smiling at her. "I told you, it doesn't hurt." She can't make sense of this; maybe the paramedics were just being cautious. She stares at him, there has to be a mistake.

"You have a kind heart," he says, solemnly, "and that's why you're the one that found me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: -- ORIGINAL COMMENTS FROM ORIGINAL POST AT FFN.
> 
> Again thanks so much to all of you that are reading and to DancingDragons42 who apparently is pleased with her secret santa gift ;) I hope you continue liking it!
> 
> Also, thanks so much to all my girls at twitter & FB, who are enjoying this so much. How I wish I could actually produce this. Ky, you're my cuddly grammar dictator! Thank you! Now, go write Hard Candy!


	3. Chapter 3

"There's room for him at Sister Elena's house," Angela confirms, ending her call and pocketing her cell phone as Castle hands her a cup of steamy coffee. "I'll drive him over there once you guys are done."

"This could take a while," he says as they walk out of the break room, watching Beckett deep into conversation with William. "I know it's late, but I think that she prefers to talk to him while the memories are still fresh."

"Understandable." The woman leans on one of the desks while she watches the exchange between the detective and the young kid. "But you know I will have to stop you guys at some point if he starts getting tired. I do have to look after him."

Castle nods at her while taking a sip of his coffee. He knows that this will be a difficult investigation; the circumstances, the time of the year it has taken place on. And then Beckett's past will inevitably linger in.

He can't avoid placing himself in it as well. He was a little boy once, after all. While he never really dwelled on the lack of a father figure, while he never actually had to go through the phases of losing a parent, he knows how the sense of loneliness can make your head spin.

He finds it curious, how in a few hours William's living situation won't be too different from his preteen years; out with a bunch of unknown kids, all with their own states of anguish, all with their own fears and monsters to fight. His time in boarding schools and such had been a mixed bag of experiences. At times he wished he hadn't been such a loner, but on the other hand, he doesn't think his imagination would have then developed to create all those realities he conceived and put onto paper to make up for those empty spaces in his life.

Maybe he will grow up to tell stories. Who's to say that this kid doesn't have the next bestseller or blockbuster locked up in that odd head of hair?

"Yo… How's that going?" Esposito chimes in as he and Ryan arrive from the crime scene, the room filling with a few officers carrying the evidence from the Van de Kamp's car and the diner. They're tired themselves, already anticipating what will be a long night of perusing through all of their findings. Ryan throws a sad acknowledgement to Jenkins, dropping onto his desk chair.

"We're letting Beckett do her thing," Castle responds, taking an evidence bag that Esposito is handing to him. "What is this?"

"A lot of doodles," Esposito responds and Castle fails to see the importance of this as part of the evidence of the case.

"Am I missing something?" he says, pulling the drawings out of the bag and starting to peruse through them. Esposito exchanges a look with Ryan and they pull Castle aside, towards Beckett's desk and away from Jenkins.

"You tell him," Javier instructs Ryan, his voice just above a whisper.

"Ok, just… you know, don't go getting all crazy on us," Ryan warns, looking at the writer with hesitation. "Beckett will hate us for giving you ammo for your crazy theories."

"Okay…" Castle agrees, confused, anticipation already brewing in him.

"So, we went through their things…" Ryan begins, reserved, his voice trying to control the tinge of excitement that is seeping through. "These were stored in different suitcases, stacks of them. This is only one of the bags we collected."

"We tried to preserve the order we found them in, when they kept appearing in everything we opened," Esposito explains and Castle continues examining the pages, stopping to try and decipher whatever meaning they had; some symbols seeming familiar, but no recognizable pattern to it.

"I mean, we don't know man, we just both got a strange feeling about this case," Ryan confides. Castle looks at both detectives and lets out a deep breath.

"You're right, guys," he says, stacking the pages together and putting them in front of him on the desk, as he takes a seat on Beckett's chair. "This is definitely the kind of 'Castle Crazy' material that spurs my theories. Just wait 'til I tell Beckett. My wisdom might have influenced you two more than I thought."

"Told ya he was going to enjoy this way too much," Esposito says, slapping his partner in the arm, not enjoying the snicker that Castle is throwing his way. "Last time I let you convince me into your fan-boy ways."

Ryan rubs the spot and sees Esposito make his way to the break room.

"I'm just saying. It's really weird, man." He takes a seat on Castle's usual chair. "There's at least seven bags of them, and we haven't gone through all of it yet. We rushed back - It's too cold out there."

"Look, I won't argue that this isn't strange, and believe me any other day I would be the advocate for a really strange theory for this, and I'm not saying that this isn't already a weird set of events…" Castle rubs his neck and takes a pause to consider what they've learned so far, "a shooting in a diner to kill a family of farmers that were on their way to Morocco… yeah, its weird."

He spreads the drawings on the desk again.

"You know, the kid said something about someone coming after them," he informs Ryan. "My best bet is that they're escaping a cult." A chirp from his phone interrupts him – a text message from Beckett: _Come here NOW_. He lifts his gaze and sees her still sitting on the lounge but throwing glances at him, furtively, something's up.

* * *

Castle enters the room and she signals him to sit beside her. She hopes that he can sense her unrest, she really does.

"Angela found him a spot at Sister Elena's," Castle informs them, "You got a bed, kid." He turns to her and there it is, his eyes softening, he's seen that she's holding something from him and he's trying to read it in her. But then it dawns on her: does she really want to tell this to Castle? She can't excite crazy theories in him, he'll never stop, and this doesn't help, she thinks.

This doesn't help when she doesn't even know what this all means. Who is this kid?

"Is everything alright?" he asks, trying to break into her reticence, pointing at his cell phone.

"Yeah… everything is…" She looks at her hands that are still shaking, but she manages to hide it from Castle; just a few seconds ago, her world shifted on its axis, just the enough amount of inches. She turns to the boy when Jenkins enters the room as well, making her shift gears. "I just think that maybe is getting too late, but I still want to talk to William. We have a lot to talk about still, right?"

William throws his head to the side, as if understanding her and nods eagerly; Castle doesn't quite get where she's going with this, confusion on his face.

"I was thinking, if you'd allow, Angela," Beckett says clearing her throat, "that we could drive William ourselves? Finish our conversation on the road?"

"If that would help you guys…" Jenkins concedes.

"Yes, maybe you can get a head start on the intake forms while we meet you there?" she proposes, trying to hide the nervousness in her voice. "I have a couple of things to check up on and we'll be on our way."

"Sure thing. Whatever I can do to speed things up," Angela says, setting her hand on William's shoulder. The boy looks at her with intense eyes and Kate wonders what he's thinking. "See you guys there."

The social worker leaves the room and Kate watches the woman make her way through the bullpen and towards the elevators.

"Kate, what's going on?" he says, leaning into her.

"Nothing, I'm just… I guess I'm just tired." Kate gives him a soft small smile. She needs to decide what to do; her heart is racing a million miles an hour and her brain is trying to grasp what she just experienced. She wants to show him, but she's almost positive that she could be dreaming this whole thing and that she's about to wake up. 'Keep it together, Kate. Keep it together,' she repeats to herself.

"Ok, then… lets gather our things and get going," he says, his voice sounding reassuring. "The boys are back. They brought here tons of _interesting_ evidence to weed through."

She sighs at the thought of all the normality of police procedure that she can't fit into this case. The pads of his fingers brush against the back of her hand bringing her back to earth. "Hey if you're too tired, we can always call it a night, let the boys take over."

"Yeah." She nods to him, she knows that he knows something is up, but she also knows that he won't bring it up in front of the kid. She needs to make a decision.

* * *

The way to the car is silent, more silent than he had anticipated. Something has shifted in the time she was alone with the ten year old and he doesn't have the slightest idea of what it could be.

Maybe she's spiraling down again into the grief abyss she continues to try and avoid; he shouldn't have left her alone, he berates himself.

They exit the garage and move onto the street. The roads are covered in slippery slush and the sidewalks are buried under at least a foot of snow. He checks on the boy sitting in the back of the car; eyes drooping, exhaustion is catching up.

"He's about to lose his war with the _ZZZ_ monster, you better finish that chat," he recommends her casually, trying to make humor shift the mood in the car.

"Its ok, I don't need to ask him anything," she says, not meeting his eyes.

"I don't understand. I thought that the whole purpose of us driving him was to complete your interrogation." Now he really is confused.

She looks at him for the briefest of moments and diverts her eyes back to the road, hitting the breaks slowly as they hit a red light. She's hiding something – he can read it on her, four years of trying to read her mind does not go in vain, and whatever it is, it's big.

"Kate," he probes, he doesn't need to say more; his voice is warm and coaxing, inviting her to go on, to explain herself. The light changes and she lets the Charger pick up the throttle again. It's slow movement, there's lots of traffic on the streets adjacent to the precinct.

"What did the boys say they found?" she asks, and he thinks she's changing the subject, but he'll humor her.

"Aside from a lot of things crammed into the car… just doodles, tons of doodles. Weird doodles," he informs her. "Ryan is letting his superstitious flag wave so much that he almost convinced Esposito that something is up. I tell you, it was surprising to me that _I_ was the level headed one in that conversation." Castle finishes with a laugh, but she doesn't reply to him, doesn't make a sound. Usually that would grant him at least a snarky remark.

"Okay, Kate. Throw me a bone here, what's going on?" he tries, his eyes darting to check on a sleeping William leaning against the window in the back.

"Just give me a minute here, Castle." Her voice comes out a bit harsh, and he reminds himself to tread lightly. She reaches the corner and makes a sharp right, sending muddy slush into the unsuspecting pedestrians trying to make their way down the sidewalk.

Castle braces himself against the door, surprised. She keeps going down a few blocks, speed picking up more than he'd like in these road conditions. Her hands are gripping the steering wheel, only changing positions when she shifts gears. He looks out the window; so this is how she wants to play it, shut him out of her process… the store fronts zip fast past his eyes and then he realizes it.

"Where are we going, Kate? This is not the way to the foster home."

Her hands grip harder, her leather gloves squeaking at the pressure against the surface of the wheel. She bites her lip, and brings the car to a sudden stop, a trash truck is backing his way into an alley and they're trapped behind it. She checks on the boy, turning her body in her seat.

"He's ok, I think he passed out a few blocks—," Castle tries to assure her but she stops his words by placing a finger on his lips. Her eyes are full and glistening, on the verge of tears. He wraps his hand around her wrist, slowly. "You're scaring me, Kate. If this case is going to be too much for you, maybe you should walk away."

* * *

She lets a shuddery breath escape her lips, the truck still wedged in, trying to find a way to maneuver, a few cars honk behind her, urging the driver of the truck to move faster.

"It's not that," she says, searching his eyes.

"Then what is it, Kate?"

"He..." she starts, frustration boiling as she pinches the bridge of her nose, but she manages to lift her gaze again to look him in the eye. "Castle, I just can't explain-" But she can't complete her sentence. Her window explodes in a sharp sound, in hundreds of shards, showering over her. She ducks, throwing herself towards Castle. He covers her, hunched over her as his own window shatters as well.

Kate reaches to release her seatbelt and grab for her weapon when she feels the hard and cold edge of the barrel of a gun pushed to her temple.

"Don't move," a man's voice instructs. "Don't ya even think about it." She lifts her gaze to her partner; another man has opened the passenger door, the dark clothed figure holding him at gunpoint, his face covered with a ski mask.

"Look guys, you don't know what you're doing. I'm a NYPD detective. This won't end well," she says, negotiating, a warning in her voice.

"Shhh," the man hisses back at her argument. "Now this is what we're gonna do. We're taking the kid and you and your partner are coming with us. You won't scream, you won't kick, _you won't fight back_ or we'll shoot ya. Understood?"

Kate darts her eyes towards William, who sits in the corner of the back seat watching the exchange. There's fear in his eyes, but his reaction is controlled, almost as if this was expected.

"Gimme your gun," the first man demands, and she complies. "Where's the back up piece?"

"Glove compartment," she responds through gritted teeth as the second man rushes to grab the small pistol from the front of the dashboard. Castle looks at her, she knows that look, he's thinking of a way to con these guys, but she's seeing the danger more than he is.

Kate fixes her eyes on him, shaking her head with the slightest of movements. 'Don't do it, Castle. Don't get us killed.' She prays in her thoughts and he seems to get the pleading in her eyes loud and clear, his eyes suddenly expressing the silent confirmation that she's learned to read.

"Come on, move." The second guy grabs Castle by the neck, dragging him out of the sedan and into a black cargo van that has inched its way over the mounds of snow against the sidewalk. She's next, and as she's pushed over into the van she can see a slender figure rummaging through her Charger and rapidly grabbing all of their things, putting them into duffle bags. An organized operation, fast and precise, just like the shooting early this evening. But why did they spare their lives? Why are they taking them?

They push her to the back of the van, where another figure, a smaller one, covers their faces with a black cloth and zip-ties their wrists. She can't see what they've done with William, but she can feel him near; his breathing is different from the nervous huffs coming from Castle that leans to her right, the weight of his body reassuring in the blur of the situation.

"Ready," a woman's voice calls. So far, Kate thinks that there are four of them. The van starts to move and she can hear the groan of the trash truck moving.

This was a setup; the truck was blocking their way with a purpose. They had been entrapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> \-- ORIGINAL COMMENTS FROM ORIGINAL POSTING AT FNN--
> 
> Guys I'm again so happy of the people that keep finding this story, and your support and reviews have been great :)
> 
> Please continue to spread the word, invite your friends over, I'm enjoying this story a whole lot myself, and I'm glad you are as well!
> 
> Thanks to all my FB, Tumblr, and Twitter peeps that continue to read and tell me what they think about the story.
> 
> Hope you liked this one, I'm going to space out a bit the next chapters so that I rush them out!
> 
> Thanks to KyInHI - You're no Hitler, and I'm no shaming you, but where's my Candy?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- COMMENTS FROM ORIGINAL POSTING AT FFN--  
> Some Acknowledgments:
> 
> So the world didn't end. I'm aware of it. Some of the actions of this story observe 12/22/12 as the date that The X-Files deemed as "End Game" - If you followed the show, you might be wondering what I'm going to do moving forward.
> 
> I've always believed that if there was something to happen in that day, it wouldn't be evident to everyone, but something happening under wraps, noticeable only when shit hit the fan, literally. So this is my intention.
> 
> If you haven't seen The X-Files... why haven't you!? I can tell you, it takes a month to watch all 202 episodes and 2 movies, probably full time, so you better start cracking. Believe me, you won't regret it.
> 
> Also, I don't think I need to say it, but in this universe Castle 3x09 never happened... and if it did, I'll give you the liberty to think of another SciFi show to pen it to.
> 
> Any way, onto with chapter 4.

The kidnappers don't utter a word. Not one. It's dead silent inside the van, and aside from the noise of the engine pushing through the streets, there's no reference to the world around him. He doesn't know how much time has passed, but he thinks it must be at least thirty minutes; enough time to cross the bridge if you know the roads, and these guys are prepared - enough time to move far enough away from the precinct.

The dark cloth over his head makes him feel a bit claustrophobic, and even though he's gone through this already during their brush with the CIA not too long ago, he swears that this time is worse. 'Keep it together,' he chants in his head. This is not like the other times, this time he feels it deep in his gut; this is bigger.

Kate shifts next to him; they've tied their hands in the front and he won't dare try to peek under his mask, but he reaches for her hands. He finds the comfort of her fingers fast enough, clasping tight. She pushes her body to him and he can smell her lotion, the familiar scent making him feel safe in some odd way.

He hasn't heard one word from William and he wonders what the kid must be thinking. He escaped death once today, they vowed to protect him and look at them now.

The obnoxious blare of a cell phone going off startles him. It's Kate's. Angela is probably calling since they haven't shown up at the foster home. At least people will know pretty fast that they're missing. They'll put out an APB on Beckett's cruiser, probably find some witnesses, someone has to have seen something. The guys will be all over this in a matter of minutes; they saved them from a tiger once, this is no different… not really.

The van comes to a stop and someone opens the doors next to him, a sharp and frigid whish of air hitting the few patches of exposed skin that his trench coat doesn't cover.

"Everything Okay?"

A woman's voice, and there's concern in her tone.

"Yeah, we'll be fine."

A man, not the one that ambushed Beckett, probably the one that grabbed him then.

A hand takes him by the arm, firmly but not violent, and ushers him out of the back of the van. He hears a rustle and then a click-clacking, Beckett's heels hitting the concrete floor of this place; she's right next to him.

"Put them in the locker," the other man instructs, and they're guided forward, a few dozen feet he gathers by the length of his steps. They stop and are guided to sit, their captors finally taking away the covers from their heads.

It takes him a few seconds to adjust his eyes to the dim light inside the room. They're both sitting on a wood bench that lies next to the wall; nothing else is in the room but the 40-watt bulb that hangs precariously from the tin roofing.

The figure in front of them is a woman, judging by the shape that hides under the tight, black fatigues and jacket. Tall, maybe 5'9", slender and her hands are tanned, like Kate's.

"Stay put, and don't try anything." The woman's voice booms with authority, throaty, and he imagines the kind of villain that this woman could be in one of his novels. Like Dilya, from _A Bloody Storm_ , he only hopes she doesn't turn out to be the relentless assassin that he created in his book.

He turns to Kate when the woman leaves the room, locking the heavy door behind her. Her eyes are rimmed with red, she must have been crying or on the verge of tears.

"We'll be okay," he says, trying to sound reassuring and tucking her hair behind her ear with his bound hands. She nods, swallowing thickly, finally holding his hand.

"I'm sorry." Her voice is small, almost childish.

"What are you sorry about?" He tries not to sound judgmental, no need to pick up a fight right now; he knows how it could go.

"I didn't tell you what my intentions were. That was dumb," she explains, and he can see in her face that she regrets her choice of action.

"I don't know what your plan was and how you not telling me could have landed us in this—," he tries to soothe, but she interrupts him.

"Maybe not, but…" Her voice is laced with thick hesitation, as if she won't dare to speak the words. "There's something you need to know."

"Do you know who these people are?" Was there something that William could have told her while she interrogated him?

"No. But I know what they want," she states and he's sure that this explains her behavior since she was alone with the kid. She unfastens the buttons of her coat and grabs onto his hands as she pushes aside the fabric of her blouse.

"Whoa, Kate—," he exclaims, surprised at her choice of movements. "I get your sense of adventure but—."

"Shushh!" she silences him, rolling her eyes. "I'm not pushing for a quickie, just… what's missing?" she asks him, rubbing his fingers against the delicate skin between her breasts and staring at his eyes with a mix of astonishment and urgency.

"Missing? I don't know what you mean—." But then he does. Her scar. The ridged skin… He separates the folds of her oxford shirt, unbuttoning another pearly button and exposing more skin to him. There's no scar, just smooth skin between her lace-covered breasts. "Wait, what? I don't understand."

"He did this to me. William." Her voice is ragged and he can sense she's struggling to admit to this. He can't wrap his head around what his eyes are witness to. He's the one with the crazy theories, not her.

"You're yanking my chain, Kate," he says, ghosting his fingers over her skin, examining the warm and soft surface.

"Am I? Would I joke in a moment like this?" she responds, frustrated, pushing his hands off her. Of all the changes that he'd thought he'd provoke in Kate Beckett, becoming gullible and a believer was not one that he thought would come easy, especially when he doesn't believe this himself.

"He… he took off his bandages and all of his wounds had healed. Not a scratch," she continues, getting up from the bench and starting to pace the room. "He said that he could do that, that he'd always been like this and then that he could heal me. He knew I had a scar, Castle. I never told him, I never showed him. He just… knew."

"But how?" He's still trying to come to terms with this, shift gears into his usual self.

"I don't know but whatever he has, whatever he is, I was right," she states, hushed urgency in her words. "They're looking for this kid. He is what they need."

* * *

Overhead halogen lights don't allow for any shadows in the room. John Doggett opens a can of Red Bull and takes a long swig, rubbing the rough hairs on his face and sitting on the metal chair across from Monica.

The woman has discarded her ski mask and is going through all the items they had collected from Beckett's cruiser, picking them out of the duffle bag. She works through them quickly, only taking a pause to get out of her own heavy, dark jacket.

"Anything useful?" he asks, taking another swig and pushing the sleeves of his thermal shirt up his muscular arms.

"Her weapons that we took off of them… ID, gum, gloves, scarves, iPhones…" she accounts, continuing to pull items and place them on the table. "A couple of note pads, some odd trinkets, a map, hmm… condoms?" she says with a snort, wiggling her eyebrows at him and continuing to pull items from the bag. Beckett's vest comes next and then Castle's – the word WRITER on it; Monica shares a confused look with John and shakes her head as she pulls the last big items out.

"A change of clothes for her… a change of clothes for… him?" Monica wonders, pulling out a man's striped shirt. She shakes the last of the contents out of the bag onto the table, a few small items scattering on the surface.

"Looks like slim pickings." She grabs onto a pair of glasses and examines them, putting them on. "Magic X-Ray glasses? I thought we were after seriously trained professionals here. I guess that the NYPD has a small budget for gadgets."

"Take those off, no time to be checking me out." John smiles at her, his rugged features wrinkling as his blue eyes focus on his partner's movements and grabbing the novelty shades from her hands. "I've successfully avoided body scanners these past few months, I don't need my wife to be ogling me now through fake radiation goggles."

"You're right, I don't need the goggles," she says winking an eye at him. "I'll just wait until the end of the world comes and you finally live up to your promise of managing that 'Apocalyptic Bang'."

"Mon…" he warns, a smirk growing on his face. "How do you always find the weirdest of times to bring up that joke?"

"It's about the only thing I'm looking forward to about this whole 'end of the world' plan we have going on," she comments, half-jokingly, running her fingers through the wild tresses of her dark brown hair. "How long until the NYPD figures out that they're missing?"

"I figure that they are already aware that they are," he says, grabbing onto the cell phones. "These have been ringing nonstop."

She takes them from him, and swipes the white iPhone to unlock it.

"Turn it off. We don't want them running a trace," John recommends.

"Shh, hold on. This is her phone," Monica browses the text messages, a sudden blush creeping across her cheeks and she fights a snicker. "Hmm. Yeah, they're together. You should see these texts. Pretty racy."

"How do you know?"

"He sent her a picture of himself, wearing very nerdy underwear." She shows him a snap of their hostage, clad in Flash Gordon boxer briefs.

"Turn them off…" His voice is annoyed but still humorous.

"Hey! We need to know who they are, right?" she says, grabbing a hold of the other iPhone next. "It's not like this part of the plan was completely researched."

"We need to rush this, before the others come to play," he says, tossing his can into the trash bag tied to the shelf next to him. "I'm sure that they've figured out that we've got the upper hand by now."

"Yeah, but there's still pieces missing. We can't move forward without the diagrams," she says, organizing all of the items in front of her.

The metal door behind them closes shut, startling them out of the conversation.

"Everything Okay?" Doggett asks, turning to the man that approaches them.

"She's with him." His voice comes out calmed but tired. "He's gonna be fine. We just have to… try to…" He struggles to find the right words. "I guess, introduce ourselves."

He sits at the table with them and Monica offers him a protein bar.

"Thanks," he says, taking it from her and nodding in the direction of their captives. "What about them?"

"They've been quiet," Doggett informs him, pushing the items around the table. "No drawings, no diagrams… just what you'd expect, a token pile of items from co-workers shagging on the side."

He nods, clasping his hands behind his head and smirking.

"Glad to know that law enforcement is still keeping the tradition alive," he says eyeing his partners. Monica hands him their wallets.

"Like you can talk," she smirks, leaning back into her chair.

"Detective Katherine Beckett, homicide… and Richard Castle," he states reading from their documents and ignoring the quip. "Not a cop?"

"It doesn't seem like it, tons of credit cards and an impressive amount of money at hand though," Monica states. "Phone has a bunch of interesting apps, family pictures and a very odd collection of weird up-close shots of random things… instagram pictures; he seems to have a fixation for breakfast items."

He raises a confused eyebrow at her and shakes his head while getting up from his seat and grabbing a couple of bottles of water. "I'm going in there. Let me know if she needs me," he adds, gesturing in the direction of the metal door.

"Back you up?" Doggett offers.

"I'll be fine," he assures, grabbing a metal chair and making his way to the door at the other end of the space. "Help Alleyson to load up the SUV, we have to be ready if we need to bolt."

* * *

The whine of the metal safeties clicking open draws Castle's attention. He straightens and she perks up, alert, ready for whatever or whoever should come through the door. He shares a fast look with Beckett. _Here we go_.

A man comes in, bringing a chair into the room and placing it in front of them. He's tall, but not as tall as he is, Castle thinks. His brown hair shows his age; grey on the sides of his temples. His shape is athletic though, strong, his features… weathered. This man has been through some kind of hell.

"I guess there's no point in me apologizing for any part of our… procedures," he starts. "But I'll go ahead and introduce myself anyway, see if we can help each other, maybe reach some kind of agreement."

Beckett shifts in her seat, clearing her throat.

"My name is Fox Mulder. I…" He hesitates, taking a pause to gather his next words. He runs his hands through his hair, weariness evident in his entire posture. "That's my kid you got there." Castle throws him an unbelieving stare. Who is this guy and why is he claiming to be William's father? Something about the man's eyes though… it perks Castle's interest. "It's a long story," he says, dismissing their confused faces and taking a seat in front of them, placing a couple of water bottles on the floor next to him.

"I might be wrong, but I'd say this is a good a time as any for a little narrative," Castle says, trying to control his tone. He might be interested in the tale but the fact remains that he is speaking to the man who abducted he and Beckett. He's not in any mood to be agreeable.

"I understand that we've put you in a difficult situation…" Mulder continues, and Castle has to fight his urge to scoff at the comment. "Believe me, this was not our intention, but it just so happens that things didn't go as planned and well, we had to improvise."

"Did you kill the Van de Kamps?" Beckett asks, cutting to the chase. Her tone is sharp, commanding, and Castle mentally high-fives her as the man flinches.

"We did not," he says, taking a deep breath. "But I can see why you would think that and I understand if you don't believe in my word at all. But we're not the only ones out there. I guess that no ones' plans are going accordingly tonight. You just happened to step into…" Mulder pauses, choosing his words, Castle thinks. His gut tells him that this man can be trusted, but nothing he has so far said actually convinces him of this fact. "A very, let's say _unfamiliar_ territory… to give it a definition."

"Can you quit with the shadow discourse and just tell us what's going on?" Kate demands, tired of Mulder's meandering explanations.

Mulder takes a deep breath. Castle can tell that this man is sizing up how much he can trust them. He gets up from his chair and goes to them, taking out a knife. For a split second fear goes through Beckett's features, but the man grabs her hands, cutting both her zip ties and Castle's in quick succession.

"I used to be FBI, you know?" he says, putting away the knife and handing them the water bottles.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder, stationed at the Hoover Building in DC. I led my own little department: The X-Files." He sits down again, tiredly, opens a protein bar that he produces from his pocket and takes a bite. "I spent a good chunk of my life fighting the good fight with Uncle Sam until… let's just say, I found out that finding justice for this world was going to be hard if I stayed in the confines of a dusty basement regulated by dumb rules." He smiles, almost wistfully while talking of his past and Castle instantly wants to know more of that story. "That and well, nobody wanted me there anyways. I guess I was always something of a joke to the upper brass of the Hoover."

"What are these 'X-Files'?" Kate asks, rubbing her wrists.

He finishes the snack, methodically folding the wrapper and tucking it on his pants' side pocket.

"Cases that have been deemed of an unknown nature… everything from your everyday, biological mystery to, well, little gray men."

'Little gray men? For real?' Castle thinks. The government actually had an office for that?He'd love to unleash a million curious questions that are dancing in his head, but he bites his tongue and waits for Mulder to continue; there are more pressing matters at hand. Like the matter of them unceremoniously being kidnapped and shoved into a van, held hostage.

"I discovered that the forces at play do not flinch at a gun being pulled out on them, neither does jail time."

'Forces at play'? Why doesn't he just spit it out already? How bad could it possibly be?

"I discovered that while violence and terrorists might make our everyday lives a mess, there are bigger entities at play; conspiracies that would only fit in fiction books and on the back pages of the tabloids."

He does have a knack for storytelling at least, Castle thinks as the deep monotone of the man's voice draws him in.

"My own search for the truth drew me deep into this conspiracy. While people were worried about the danger on this planet, they seemed to forget that we're not alone. We've never been alone."

We haven't? Castle is beginning to think this man is nuts. He glances over to Beckett. ' _Completely nuts'_ is the expression he expects on her features, but she seems to be raptly paying attention. He opens his bottle and takes a swig, instantly berating himself, what if these are drugged? Maybe he's becoming a little paranoid as well.

"The dangers that threaten this planet do not stop by killing a terrorist holed up in Pakistan or by killing a wealthy dictator."

"I don't understand how your son, if that's to be believed, and us, became part of this problem." Beckett asks, interrupting Mulder's narration.

"Like I said, it's a long story. You're looking at twenty plus years of investigation, murders, abductions…" Mulder sighs, the weariness evident on his face. "And that's only the span of time that I shared this burden with my partner. Believing is not easy; even for her it took a number of years, near death experiences and our son to finally… try to come to terms with it."

Castle feels the last bout of information wash over Beckett as she fidgets in her seat and looks at him. He doesn't need to hear her thoughts to know the string of connections she's formulating in her head. Partners that got romantically involved, partners that had a child together. It's not them, but it could be them… if he was an UFO nut and this was a story being told a couple of years from now.

Hell, he could be an UFO nut; maybe that could be his next book. _Space Heat_ … He can feel Kate's eye roll already.

"Our lives became an instrumental part of this whole conspiracy," Mulder continues, grief and frustration thick in his voice, bringing Castle back to this man's reality. "We became pawns in a dangerous chess game… And our son is the most important piece on the board."

"If all you need is the boy, why are you holding us?" he asks.

"You're right, we could have just walked away," Mulder confirms, leaning against the back of his chair, "but it just so happens that you may have access to something else that we need."

Mulder takes a moment, sizing them up, his eyes going from Castle's to Beckett's.

"There's an amount of things that your team collected tonight from the Van de Kamps. We're going to need those," he says, eyes fixated on Beckett.

"What makes you think that I'm going to just bend over and hand you my evidence?" she retorts.

"You're right. You have no reason to trust us. I wouldn't." He lays his hands out in front of him, a gesture of honesty that Castle is hard-pressed not to believe. As irritated as he is by the whole situation, for some reason the crazy talk from this man rings true.

"Look, you're just lucky that it was us who intercepted you first, and not the other guys," Mulder presses, staring intently at Kate.

"What other guys?" Castle interrupts.

"There are many forces at play, but the 'other guys' are the ones you don't want to mess with. The 'other guys' are the ones that shot the Van de Kamps tonight." Mulder gulps, pain evident on his face. He knew them, Castle surmises. "It's a shame. They were good people, good friends. We dropped the ball, we should have prevented it."

"Okay. Walk us through this." Kate says. "You say that William is your son, yet the Van de Kamps were raising him… and you guys were… looking after _them_?"

"That's one way of putting it," he replies. "Believe me, if I was to explain the details of what this situation entails, it would make your head spin."

"Try me," Kate responds. "Where do William's _special_ abilities fit into these unknown details?"

Mulder stares at Beckett knowingly, nodding and letting a small smile creep onto his lips at Beckett's admittance that they know more than they had suspected.

"None of our investigations came without great sacrifice. Our lives became a part of this. They made us a part of it." He continues with a more straightforward tone. "These factions need my son's _special abilities,_ as you put them, to fulfill their agenda, a prophecy of sorts."

"We tried fighting them, I even tried to walk away from my family to avoid endangering them any further," these memories obviously bring a sour taste to the man, his words filling his expression with grief, "but that only proved to strengthen their resolve. It was not easy to figure out their objectives."

"Nothing we tried seemed to work." Mulder gets up from his seat and slowly starts pacing the room. "We thought that by hiding him from these forces we could delay their search, try to give him a chance to have a normal life, away from the hell that we were forced into."

"You gave him away…" Kate interjects, figuring out what came next.

"It had been the right decision at the moment, albeit a difficult one for my partner, one that she had to make on her own." Castle assumes this had happened while he was away from his family, and he can feel the story brewing an unsettling anxiety in his stomach. "We have fought so long to have a normal life… how can you, as a mother, make this decision without diving into your own destructive spiral?"

Castle can only imagine what they must have gone through; a broken family, the distress of such a difficult decision.

"The grip of the FBI became too constricting, putting my life in danger as I became too close to the truth." Mulder braces to the back of the chair, and Castle checks on Kate, her elbows braced on her knees, taking a swig of her bottle. "My partner had managed until then, to keep a hold onto her life at the bureau, but after that we had to cut ties with that world and go on our own."

"When was this?" Castle asks, trying to put some sense into his mental timeline.

"2002," Mulder informs. Ten years, they have been running for ten years.

"We kept up knowledge of William, without involving the Van de Kamps at first… until his abilities started to develop." He continues, "I'd been watching from afar, through crippled sources, trying to put our lives back together away from prying eyes. We laid low, and eventually got successful at it, so I hid the surfacing of his abilities from his mother… until we were tracked down by the FBI."

"Did they want him?" Kate asks, with a wrinkled brow, concerned.

"No, they brought us in to consult on a case," he says dismissing the thought with a tired scoff, "but that brought the spotlight back on us, and I had to come clean to her; fill her in on my findings. We could not avoid the situation anymore."

"So you tried to get him back…" Kate assumes, and Mulder shakes his head.

"We knew that Jane and George loved him as their own. They didn't know what to make of his faculties as they became bolder and more powerful, and we started to fear that they would bring too much attention to themselves." He rubs his face, the story taking an evident toll on him. "Facing our own fears, we decided to contact them; it wasn't easy to explain the situation, but we vowed to protect them. They would have the son they always wanted, we would remain unknown to him, for as long as we could."

"So what happened?" Castle asks, completely immersed in the story; while he had questioned the veracity of it at first, the expression on this man's face has grounded him. He had interviewed dozens of people for his books, interrogated countless suspects; this man spoke a heavy truth, a painful truth.

"These forces kept looking for him," Mulder responds, looking at his hands in impotence, "trying to fulfill a prophecy that set him straight into the middle of an event that would unfold in the shadows, under wraps; an event that would turn humanity in helpless victims of an organized take over."

The last statement hangs in the air and he sees that Beckett is trying to process all of this. Confusion, fear and astonishment are written all over her face. He feels like he just stepped into a rabbit hole and deep down he's fighting the urge to climb out as fast as he can. He resists because he needs to know the ending of this story.

"All these years we've been in contact with other people like us that want to prevent this; outcasts that have been preparing for what seems inevitable." Mulder explains, his tone becoming more controlled as he tries to lay down the reality that has become his life. "Soon enough, it became evident that we needed to escape this country and the tendrils of a corrupt government that has spent years preparing for this scenario."

"So you were guarding their escape to Morocco?" Kate asks, the pieces coming together in her head.

"We've spent out lives fighting the future… the future is now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW NOTES FOR THE AO3 PUBLICATION:
> 
> I wrote this fic before the Revival was even conceived as it ended up being. To be honest, I quite rather like this world I built. I did enjoy so many things of the X-Files revival, so don't take this fic as a revolt to what it ended up being. Chris Carter can have his world, I can have mine, 'k?
> 
> ORIGINAL NOTES FROM FFN POST:  
> A/N:
> 
> Thanks so much to all of you that have reviewed. As I said today to TDevol; we don't get paid for this (yet) so reviews are our currency! And they keep us in check!
> 
> I know I said I was going to space out the next posts, but I'm so excited to be writing this and for your encouragement that I can't hold back.
> 
> This chapter in particular was a hard one to write because I avoid exposition like the plague. But it was completely necessary for me to try to make sense of how they've gotten to this point in time. More of this to come from a different angle, from different perspectives, and I hope that they prove to be entertaining not only to X-Files fans but also for you Castillions.
> 
> Congratulations to all of you that survived the Alien Zombie Apocalypse! You're alive, until the supersoldiers get you, that is.
> 
> My undying love to KyInHI, who not only managed to post a kick ass chapter of Hard Candy, but also went and Beta-ed this and pushed me through Mythology nerves.
> 
> REVIEW me! and go and Review her as well!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OG Comments from original post at FFN:
> 
> MERRY X-MAS, EVERYONE!
> 
> I didn't have the time to go buy each of you presents, but here's my best effort to write you one!
> 
> I'm giving KyInHI co-writer credit on this chapter because she helped tons to find Gates' voice, she's awesome like that.
> 
> Enjoy!

The bullpen is buzzing with activity when she arrives. It's been three hours since Beckett and Castle left the precinct and set to meet Jenkings at Sister Elena's foster home. It was supposed to be a brief, twenty-minute ride. They never got there.

Captain Victoria Gates strides with purpose towards the detectives huddled in front of the white dry erase board, a feeling of dread settling in her gut. It's never good news at this hour of the night.

She had been woken up by her phone buzzing on her nightstand at 1AM, Esposito's name flashing on the screen. Something awful is up; her detective knows better than to wake her up at that hour.

"Any word?" Gates asks, taking account of the information on the board.

"No, sir," Esposito starts, worry written all over his face. Yeah, it's bad. She can always expect Ryan's emotions to be simmering just below the surface but Esposito likes to keep it closer to the vest. The slightly pale pallor to his face and the dry-erase marker clenched between his fingers are a sure-fire sign of his distress. Ryan, for his part, shifts from foot to foot, eyes darting between her and the sparsely filled-in murder board. He looks downright green.

"Come into my office, I want the full rundown."

Ryan and Esposito follow her in, they take a seat in front of her and she mentally prepares for the debriefing while she sheds her coat and puts on her glasses to read the documents handed to her.

When it comes to Beckett and Castle, it's never simple. She reads the report, all the details of the attack on the diner spelled out for her - not exactly your 'garden variety' hit.

"How's Karpowski?"

"She's fine," Ryan responds. "Went home after we took her statement. She helped to bring some of the evidence load back to the station."

Captain Gates breathes out a sigh of relief; she likes Karpowski, she's by the book and straightforward. She never has to worry about whether Karpowski is running headlong into danger unassisted. Sometimes she wishes all her detectives were as straight-laced as Karpowski. Then again, while Karpowski has a perfectly respectable close rate, she simply doesn't get the results that the rather unorthodox team standing in front of her does.

The 'awesome foursome' she secretly refers to them as in her head; something they will _never_ be informed of. The trouble they cause more than compensates for the high solve rate. Each of them has their own gift, with their own strengths and flaws; so different from each other, yet a perfect mix.

"So…" she starts, leaning back on her chair and easing her glasses off, "you came back from the crime scene…"

"And Beckett was interviewing the kid," Esposito informs and Gates takes a look at William's picture from his passport. He looks like a normal, cute pre-teen; a soft smiling face looks straight at the camera. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Nothing seemed off?"

"No, sir," Ryan says, shaking his head.

"What about Castle?"

"We talked to him, about some of the evidence we found in the victim's SUV," Esposito continues to narrate, rubbing his neck and cracking it from side to side. "He went in, talked to Beckett, Jenkins left for the foster home and they left shortly after with the boy."

"What time was this?"

"11 p.m." Ryan states.

"Did she confirm that she planned to come back?"

"No, Sir, but she would have only told us if she didn't plan to." And she knows Beckett; she knows that her best detective might sometimes get lost in a case but she has always been respectful of her rules… unless there's something important at play, something Beckett hasn't quite figured out and doesn't know who to trust.

Gates hopes like hell that this doesn't involve her or her mother's case. She likes to think that after the roof incident the detective has learned a valuable lesson, learned to trust her. She dismisses the thought. Kate _has_ been different since then; more cautious, happier too.

Perhaps she needs to learn a little trust herself.

"When Jenkins called we knew something was up," Ryan interrupts her thoughts.

"Her cruiser was found away from the expected route, no trace of them or any witnesses to suggest what might have happened." Gates cannot help but worry about the doors that keep closing with every detail Esposito feeds her. Whoever is behind the Van de Kamps shooting is probably behind the disappearance of the members of her team.

"How about their phones?" she asks, hopeful.

"We called and they didn't respond, by the time we tried to get a hold to triangulate their signal they had been turned off," Ryan laments. She can see that he's running anxious; the Irish detective has never been able to keep a poker face.

Gates rises from her seat and cards a hand through her hair, trying to gather her thoughts. There have been some close calls for Beckett and Castle in the past, but there was always something to follow; a lead, an idea.

"So what are we thinking?" She leans on the side of her desk, arms crossed protectively around her waist. Esposito adjusts on his seat and leans forward, a grave expression darkening his features.

"We think that whoever planned this hit on the Van de Kamps tried to finish it," he says, his eyes focused on hers, trying not to utter the possibility that she's well aware of; if these people shot that couple with no hesitation, what would stop them from killing their colleagues?

"Were there signs of struggle in the car?" she wonders.

"That's the weird part, Captain," Ryan answers, and she can see that he's trying to do his best to not let his nervousness take over. "The car was emptied. They took everything inside but the tire iron; they broke the front windows but left no blood or shell casings."

And those are good signs, regardless of their lack of clues. If Castle and Beckett weren't hurt at the car, then it stands to reason that whoever took them wasn't only after the boy, they want her team as well. Alive, she hopes.

"Was there anything in particular about the Van de Kamps that might shine a light onto why were they being hunted down?" she asks, and Esposito trades a look with Ryan. She knows these two well enough by now to know that they're either hesitant about seeming foolish, or they're covering something up.

Esposito clears his throat and she glares at them, growing impatient.

"Well, sir," Esposito starts, "that's what we were discussing with Castle before they left."

The Latino eyes his partner and a silent exchange between the two ensues. 'You do it!' 'No, _you do it!'_ She can almost hear the bickering. Gates coughs to catch their attention and two pairs of eyes snap back to hers.

"We found numerous drawings, perhaps… done by the kid," Ryan informs, rolling his eyes at his partner and producing a number of weathered sheets of paper tucked into evidence bags. "Piles of them placed away carefully in their luggage."

"What's so remarkable about them?" she says, taking some of them and adjusting her glasses back. It looks like a bunch of scribbles to her.

"They seem like nonsense, sir, but…" Ryan explains, hesitant, shy, "I guess, I... I just have a feeling about this."

"A feeling, Detective Ryan?"

"Whoever took them sir, is looking for something. Why take everything that was inside the cruiser?" Esposito says, defending his partner's theory. "They're looking for something."

They have a point. But these drawings? She can't make any sense of them. What could anybody want with what appears to be a stash of doodles?

"There's nothing we have found in that pile of evidence that could be valuable," Ryan completes, and she can see that he's struggling to make peace with this piece of evidence as much as she is. "Only these odd drawings and tickets to Morocco."

She looks at the activity outside her office; uniforms going through the Van de Kamps' belongings next door, detectives busy at the phones, perhaps trying to settle other cases, and then she returns her gaze to the detectives in her office… the nervous twitch of Ryan's mouth, the tight fists, clenched at Esposito's side. None of this makes sense and it's beginning to take its toll on her as well; a dull thud is beginning to make its presence known at the base of her skull.

She hates to think of the danger that could be threatening a couple of their own… an innocent kid.

"Have we notified the victim's next of kin?" she asks, going through the steps of the well-known investigative procedure.

"They're flying in this morning," Esposito informs. Good, she thinks. Her team is still thinking straight, that's a plus. She worries sometimes that this team is too tight, getting in over their heads and throwing protocol out the window when a case becomes personal.

"Anyone take a look at these?" she says, pushing the drawings on her desk.

"Not yet. We're trying to find someone that could." Ryan's tone tells her that he's aware of what she's going to say next.

"Detectives… we're dead in the water right now, without a clue about where Castle and Beckett are, if they're okay and what the intentions of these people are," she says, taking a pause and sitting back down. Bile threatens to creep up, and she doesn't know if it's the lack of sleep or her own instincts warning her that something is terribly wrong. "We're grasping at straws and weak conclusions here without any real knowledge. Find me someone that could analyze these drawings and notify me when the next of kin gets here."

The men in front of her nod in understanding. She knows that she's not telling them something they don't already know, but they also need to hear that confirmation to keep them going. It's her job as captain; moral support and a firm shove in the right direction.

They get up from their seats, and start on their way out.

"Sir, should we contact their families?" Esposito asks softly from the doorjamb.

She really hopes it won't come to that. It's the hardest part about being captain; the responsibility to her team's families. But right now, they don't _know_ anything. There's no need to cause unneeded worry if Castle and Beckett have just gone off half-cocked, following a lead. She doesn't _like_ lecturing her detectives, but she'd rather raise hell over them going off the grid than have to inform their families that they're missing.

"Not yet, Esposito. Not yet."

* * *

A pregnant pause fills the room after they hear the last of Mulder's narration. Beckett leans against the wall behind her, her fingers gripping her knees and her eyes focused on the groves of the tin roof, searching. She tries to control her breathing but even that seems too difficult when she cannot make sense of this moment. The story seeming too impossible, too unlikely, but equally hard to dismiss.

She's not the one to believe in these kinds of things; her world doesn't revolve around crazy realities or outlandish theories. That is Castle's territory. Even then, half of the time he relishes in it just for the sake of his own amusement, testing her tolerance for his wild imagination, not because he's a true believer.

She needs proof, hard facts, and irrefutability… but then, she cannot explain what she experienced tonight. She can't disregard her instincts, and right now they're immersed in a tough battle.

While she wants to remain rational, every single fiber of her is urging her to believe this man's words, his experiences, and the sincerity that she can read in his features. The pain that this man speaks of is too deep rooted to just be the product of his imagination or some sort of insane paranoia.

She raises one hand to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose, sliding her fingers to her lips which purse in deep concentration. She knows that at any other time she would have dismissed all of this nonsense and barreled through the wall of deranged ramblings that she was just privy to.

A conspiracy that extends deep into the government, factions fighting over a child, even she can't help but berate herself for formulating those thoughts. Is not that she doesn't believe in the possibility of the lack of integrity in the system, she's well familiar with that, she's been a victim of it herself; it's the nature of it that rattles her.

She lets her fingers ghost over the place where her scar used to mark one of the most painful turning points of her life, its absence making her question everything she holds true. She needs to understand, she needs to make sense of all of this. But most importantly, she needs to hang onto who she knows she is, even if just for the sake of holding onto her sanity.

"Why do you need the diagrams?" she asks, her voice breaking the silence that has taken over the room.

"They're a guide, messages only decipherable to some," Mulder explains. "They're vital for our next step."

"Which is?" Castle's question reminds her that she's not alone in this. They're riding yet another earthquake together.

"Escape."

The word hangs heavy and the implications of it race through her mind. She ponders as she exchanges a look with Castle, her mind going back to the moment just a few hours ago as she reluctantly dressed in front of his bedroom mirror. They had rushed after they got the call from the precinct. 'Just another call' she'd thought, just another case that she'd have to resolve, bringing justice for a grieving family; another part of their routine. She can feel the universe laughing at her.

"This is what we propose," Mulder continues, his tenor steady and straightforward. "One of us will escort you to your precinct, we will provide documentation that will identify us and won't raise suspicions to your superiors. You give us the drawings and we'll let your partner go."

"Just like that?" she asks, doubting the ease with which he has laid out the plans.

"Just like that." His confirmation is filled with a confidence that she cannot trust wholeheartedly.

"What makes you think that we won't turn you in or that it would even work? What makes you think that you can trust us?" she digs, testing the man's resolve. He looks at her, his eyes fixed on hers, and for a moment she almost thinks that he's reading her thoughts; it makes her feel naked, exposed.

"Nothing more than what my own experience with people can tell me about you," he admits, and the shift in him is noticeable. "You're a truth seeker, just like me, just like us… And you won't leave your partner behind."

She takes a deep breath and evaluates her options; the list in her mind growing short. Castle fidgets next to her, his hand sliding from his thigh to hers with just the briefest of touches. She needs to regroup.

"We're going to need a minute," she requests, and the man nods in agreement as he rises from the chair.

"Knock when you're ready," Mulder says, as he throws them a last look before exiting the room and closing the door behind him, the sound of metal on metal bouncing off the walls of the stark space.

"A penny for your thoughts." Castle's voice comes as a welcome companion in the silence that drowns the place.

"I don't know, Castle. This just sounds too…" She struggles to find the right term.

"…Too surreal?" he completes, just barely finding a word that could illustrate her feelings.

"That's one way to put it," she concedes, her lips forming a straight line, her breath hitching in her chest. She's trying to control her anxiety, but she can feel it brewing deep, threatening to spill.

"What's the worst that can happen?" he asks, and her mind clicks into gear, formulating a dozen scenarios, none of them favorable, none of them safe, none of them telling her that they'd walk out of this situation unharmed.

She gets up from the bench and takes a good look around the space; grey dilapidated walls and dirty concrete floors, its blemishes barely noticeable in the dim light.

"What's the _worst_? That everything he just told us is a lie," she responds, her voice harsher than she had intended, tension getting the best of her. "That we're possibly letting the killers go and facilitating child abduction."

"Funny that you should use that word."

Leave it up to him to try to lighten the mood in a situation like this. He's trying to be there for her, he's trying to be the partner he's always been; the one that makes her seek ground in the oddest of ways.

"What do you think we should do?" she braces her hands to her hips, her shoulders sagging. 'Give me your best shot, Castle' she thinks, 'show me what I'm failing to see.'

"I think that they're risking their lives as well by going with you." He gets up from the bench as well and stands in front of her, reaching for her hand. "For all they know, you could turn them in the minute that you set foot in the 12th."

"Castle, I'd be putting you in danger. I'd be lying," she states as lets him twine his fingers between hers, the consequences of this plan too great not to take account. "I'd be committing federal offense by handing them evidence on a case. Let alone violating procedure and my own personal ethics."

He squeezes her hand, trying to soothe the away the rush.

"This is not how we do things," she continues, her voice fast, hushed, looking straight into his eyes, seeking reassurance but also understanding. "We bring the suspects in, we interrogate them, and we follow the leads and catch our killers. We would be trusting his word alone on this. We have no proof that these other 'forces' are even out there."

He lets her hand go and lets his fingers run through his hair; he's also fighting the lack of choices, she can see it in his eyes.

"And what's the alternative? Say no? Do you want to say no after what you have experienced tonight?" He won't let her dismiss her own admissions because that's evidence he knows she won't be able to walk away from. It would mock her every time she looked in the mirror; it would haunt her as his hands find her heart in the middle of the night.

"Maybe this is one of those situations that you have to look the other way," he admits and she knows that for him this is an option that doesn't come easy. He always wants to find the story, whatever that may be.

"Are you really proposing this?" she asks, trying to measure his resolve.

"Do you think that this is any easier for me to accept?" She knows it's not, she knows that answer. Their thirst for justice, for the truth, is equal. "If they were really the killers, don't you think we'd be dead by now?"

"They need us," she responds. They are trapped in an unfamiliar game.

"Do they really? He gave us a name, he let us see his face, and he let us into his story…" he challenges her, and she knows it's true.

Their captors have been mildly careless to share with them. Maybe they are looking for empathy, maybe trying to move them with a story filled with human sacrifice, but can she truly believe them?

"I don't know about you, Kate," he says, his own shoulders sagging but not in defeat but realization, "that's an awful amount of detail to just be a made up story. Even I couldn't come up with that amount of characterization."

She has to admit that if it is a made up story, they have gone to an awful lot of trouble. Castle searches her eyes, and she can see it in them; this is one of those few moments in which, when faced with danger, even a joke about his abilities doesn't come out of a compulsion to lift the mood or gloating about his talent. It's coming out of an admittance of his own limitations, grounding them both back to reality.

"It would be easy for us to close in on them. The minute that anything went wrong you'd put his face on every patrol car in the city, in every train station, in every airport." he states, reassuring and logical. "I get what you're thinking, Kate; they're desperate to get their hands on this child. And a very sound theory would be that they would kill the adoptive parents who would be trying to flee from them… It does make sense, but when have we had a case that the solution is handed to us like that, tied up in a pretty little bow?"

"But it does make sense, Castle." Beckett warns.

"Then what do you propose we do?" He's challenging her to think, but for her it is a decision on whether to follow her instincts and protocol or to throw the book out the window and think outside the box. It's not something that she can take lightly.

She takes a pause, random pieces starting to gather in odd shapes in her head. Her eyes search the floor in intense concentration. It's not only the homicide she has to solve; William's life is also at stake here. He's also a victim she has to guard.

He comes to her and lifts her chin to him, locking eyes with her, searching for contact.

"Hey, I'm here. I'm right here. Don't shut me out." His voice is laced with a mix of emotions that she knows very well. She lets him wrap his arms around her waist, and he pulls her to him, the warmth of his body suddenly proving to be the comfort that she was lacking. His scent relaxes her as she buries her face into the crook of his neck and she can feel his fingers delicately stroking her back, reeling her back in, making her feel safe.

She takes a deep breath and lifts her face to look at him. He's her partner; partners work together. They risk it all and they go down together. She lets him caress her nose with his, and he grazes his lips softly on hers with no demands, just seeking the contact, reassuring his presence beside her. Their kiss is the push she needs, even when her thoughts are not yet clear.

"I might be crazy to think that this is our only option," she says leaning her forehead against his, "but I think it's the only way." She separates from him, straightening his collar; he watches quietly, trying to figure out her decision.

It might not work… but _maybe_ it will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> I don't think I'll every get tired of thanking those that are following this story. Really. It's heartwarming what you write to me wherever you reach me with your comments.
> 
> I'm having a ball writing this while running a well needed marathon of The X-Files and listening to Mark Snow. In the past few days I've seen 25 episodes and it never gets old.
> 
> Next chapter is almost done; I considered making it one big one, but it would have been too much! Interesting things coming ;)
> 
> Spare me a tip with a REVIEW, you know how much I love them. Tell a friend, share it out there, read it aloud to your family while opening your presents. I know is not exactly a X-masy story, but hey, neither is Die Hard or Lethal Weapon and those are staple X-mas movies in my book!
> 
> BWJ


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allow me to introduce you guys to a new character.
> 
> An interesting one, I think.

"Damn it… come on…"

Alleyson Phoenix huddles over, pulling the device closer to herself and leaning against the outer wall of the warehouse; her small figure drowning under a dark winter jacket and hat. She concentrates on her task as her cigarette hangs precariously from her reddened, wind burned lips.

"Really? I mean, really… You gotta be kidding me!" she mutters, making a quick of the flick of her cigarette and continuing with her maneuver.

Her eyes narrow, 'Come on. Make it past, just this time… make it past,' she repeats in her head; she presses harder on the buttons, as if by doing so the task will become easier.

She hits the right button again and misses her mark, making her grip the device tighter.

"Frigging Mario," she grits out.

The video game plays on the monochromatic screen of a 1994 Nintendo Game Boy; she misses the jump of level eight and she groans, loudly, making her lose grip of the cigarette from between her lips, dropping it onto the slush by her feet.

"And… there goes thirty cents…" she laments, stepping on the wet stick, burying it deeper into the mud; the 'Game Over' music from the game mocks her frustration. "Perfect, just perfect." She turns off her game and tucks it into the side pocket of her cargo pants.

She checks the perimeter but everything is as quiet as a mouse. The structures in front of her rise in geometric blocks of concrete and metal, their rigidity only softened by the mounds of snow hanging from the rafters and roofs, piling up against the walls. Nighttime makes everything seem one dimensional, high contrast silhouettes and shapes, like the graphics of her antiquated game.

Allyson pulls on the Velcro of her jacket pocket, picks out another cigarette and lights up, taking a drag and cracking her neck. She's anxious, and sometimes these help; sometimes make it worse. Right now, they're working. She exhales, releasing a thick cloud around her, a mix of smoke and steam in the frigidity of the weather.

She's taking a break while John hauls the larger chests to the vehicle, having lost a bet with her over how many Red Vines she could stuff into her mouth without choking; he was now stuck with the last leg of the load.

She takes another drag and the mint blend courses through her, comforting, soothing; she doesn't really care how much they frown upon her vice, especially since Monica's usually sneaking one or two when John isn't looking.

She knows why Mulder doesn't like it and she's tired of hearing the stories over and over again. 'Cigarette Smoking Son of a Bitch' - His stories once seemed outrageous but gradually they became believable; so much so that the nickname now seems to fall short.

They often make lists and quote to her all of the dangers of smoking, yet she can outrun all of them, do a thousand crunches daily and beat both of her male counterparts in a push up race. It also helps that she's just turned twenty but she won't remind them of their age, it never benefits either party; especially when it comes to sharing the odd shot of whiskey or two.

She takes another drag, deep, and she can feel herself getting there; she's almost calm… as much as she thinks she can be anyway. She really doesn't know true _calmness_.

The door to the warehouse opens wide as Doggett pulls along the black and silver case; rifles and ammo. He throws her a look, shaking his head.

"What number is that one today? Thirty five?" he asks, half-jokingly, a little out of breath.

She scoffs.

"Like I have the money for that kind of chain smoking," she retorts, walking up to him and watching him drag the case along the snow. "I'll have you know that this is only my fourth today."

"That's four smokes too many…" John says, between groans, as he lifts one of the ends of the case onto the bed of the SUV.

"Oh, hush!" she answers, annoyed, flicking the stick away from her onto a mound of snow nearby. "See? I can quit anytime."

She takes out her Chapstick and spreads the balm onto her lips, soothing the tenderness, and she smiles back at John.

"You're just not gonna move a finger, are ya?"

"Hey, that'll teach you not to dare me!" She sees him struggle with the last case, trying to fit it into the crowded rear of the vehicle. "It would be a weakness of character if I gave into your pitiful annoyance."

He shakes his head at her, and she knows he might be hurting by doing all this by himself, but he also enjoys their games.

She never had a brother, a real brother, and while John Doggett could easily be her father, that's not how she would describe him. Their camaraderie makes their days lighter; it has taken a while, but just like any sibling relationship, they've finally found common ground.

The wind picks up, sending white flurries on a crazy dance around them as they finish loading the SUV. Allyson cannot help but feel the nerves come back to her, and so she surveys the area at every chance she gets.

Her skin feels tight as the wind swipes her cheeks and she adjusts her winter hat tighter around her face, light brown strands peeking out from underneath. She should have put on more layers, she thinks as she tightens up the ties of her jacket and kicks the snow that has packed onto the soles of her boots.

She focuses on the lamps around the secluded complex.; they create pools of light on the snow that covers the ground, its white reflection a stark contrast against the dark shadows, and she tries to make out the ghost shapes in them, listening carefully, aware of the danger that could be hiding anywhere.

"Here," John offers a ratchet strap to her. "Secure that last case to the frame."

Allyson takes the tie from him and climbs inside, making her way through the crowded piles as John trades her post, alert; he's also aware of their vulnerability.

She pulls on the ties and confirms their grasp, they're ready. Everything is set to go.

"Come on." He urges her out of the car, extending a hand to her, but she dismisses the gesture. "Fine, super girl," he says, a light-hearted comment about her stubbornness.

"Blah, blah, blah." She adjusts her hat again, a puff of steam accompanying her words. "No need for your gentlemanly ways."

He rolls her eyes at her as he closes the back doors of the truck. "We should be ready to go as soon as Mulder figures out what comes next."

"Does he even know himself?" she asks as they make their way back into the warehouse.

"He does but you know how it goes with him; he likes to keep us on our toes," John responds, locking the door behind him and shaking the snow off his jacket. "Why? What are you thinking?"

Allyson starts her way back down the hallway slowly, taking off her gloves and tucking them into her pocket, considering their situation.

She's known Fox Mulder for four years now, well, in person at least. Distant are the days when she had found him while looking for answers in dumb internet forums, too afraid to tell the people around her what she was experiencing. They wouldn't have understood, but he did because he was looking for answers as well. He had earned her trust even when she had known that it was a huge gamble to share her stories with him, and in the process he'd learned to trust her as well. He had become her savior in a way; when her life in the foster home had become too oppressing and she had decided to run away and meet him.

If John has become her brother, then Mulder has been a father figure and a boss; welcoming her into their family, giving her power over her faculties and embracing her curiosity to discover the paths to her past. He's been encouraging when she faced her demons, and protective when unveiling that she's a product of these forces that they've vowed to fight.

"I think that we're so close to this being over," she states, measuring her words. "But everything could turn in a split-second. They're out there, waiting for our next move, waiting for the opportunity when they can take advantage of our vulnerability."

"Is that what your logic tells you… or is that what you're sensing?" His question draws a small smile from her; the man in front of her is nothing but the most rational man she's ever met in her life, but he trusts her, and she's learned to trust him back.

"Why, John Doggett, you've come a long way," she answers, holding back the snicker in her voice. "No more ESP jokes to throw at me?" she teases, as they reach the end of the dark hallway and enter the freight elevator.

"Hey..." he says as they pull down on the heavy doors, its gears clamping heavily. "I can't fight you anymore, not after Allentown."

The memories of that afternoon are still very vivid. She can still hear the crunch of dry leaves under her feet, their steps rushing through the woods as the sun came down; the skeletons of dead trees all around them, filtering the dying light as they ran deep into the woods and towards their camp. They had gone into town to try and find a replacement for their satellite auxiliary antenna; their equipment was starting to show wear and tear, making it harder to keep communication with their sources.

She liked those moments, when so many people didn't surround her and she could zone out into her own thoughts; at that moment it had just been her voice… and well… John's. She had been amused at his mental ramblings, an array of inner dialogue that included everything from scolding himself over choosing the wrong underwear that day, to wondering what kind of panties his wife was wearing. Sometimes she wished she had an 'off' switch, or that they did. It would certainly be useful some nights.

And then she'd heard it, another voice, coming in weakly but growing stronger as they continued down their path. Someone was near them; someone was zeroing in on them.

She'd stopped dead in her tracks and drawn her gun, straight at John's back. He'd stopped when he failed to hear her steps and turned around, startled at the sight of her aiming the barrel at him. He'd reached for his gun but she had shot first, the bullet flying by, just inches away from his left temple, followed by a strangled grunt coming from the tall grass behind him.

Allyson had pushed him to the ground, landing on top of him and fixing her next mark to their right and shooting fast, precisely. Another dull thud falling and she'd kept listening; John's ragged breath and the confusion running in his head creating a white noise that clouded her senses. She had placed a hand on his mouth, shushing him while she listened carefully, her eyes trying to detect the threat she knew was hiding from them.

She had controlled her breath, concentrating, zoning out everything until she found it; a fearful but menacing stream of consciousness, trying to calibrate the best shot, his thoughts coming loud into her mind, too loud. She took a chance and pushed her body upwards, rolling off John's chest and landing on her back, snapping quickly to her knees and shooting straight forward.

Silence had ensued… and John's mental string of curses. Just another day on the road.

"Saved your ass, didn't I?" she mocks, snapping back to the present as the elevator makes its way slowly down.

"You sure did," he agrees, shaking his head at her. "Thanks for not gloating too much about it."

"Anytime," Allyson assures him. He looks at her, expecting a witty response. And for all its worth, while she doesn't have one, she can try to explain the shift that she now faces. "It's different now, with him here."

"William?"

"Yes, it's like all of the sudden I have different company," she admits to him, the few hours that the boy has been close to her making a presence in her inner dialogue. "It's a voice that speaks my same language."

"That might come in handy." The freight elevator comes to a stop and they both reach to open the solid gates. "Just let us in on your conversations; I'm sure we'll get the jokes." He winks at her as they exit, keeping it light, and she appreciates the humor.

"The SUV is ready to go," Allyson announces to Mulder and Monica as they reach the mess room.

"Do we still have room for them?" he asks, nodding in the direction of their captives but still engrossed in his iPad.

"Yeah, though I hope they don't mind the lack of soft cushions," she says, sitting on top of the metal table and taking the cup of hot coffee that Monica hands to her. "We had to take out the seats."

"I'm sure they've had worse accommodations," Monica comments, sipping from her own cup.

"He's a writer," Mulder informs them, lifting his eyes from his tablet, "and she's his muse."

Allyson takes the iPad from Mulder and scrolls through the website, interested.

"Richard E. Castle. Bestselling author, millionaire," she takes off her hat and adjusts her messy tresses, that fall forward framing her features. "Prolific in his work he's been shadowing NYPD detective Katherine Beckett; his inspiration for the crime drama book series about an attractive female detective…" She stops, stifling a laugh. "What kind of name is Nikki Heat?"

Mulder rolls his eyes at her in amusement. "I don't question the man's imagination."

"And they're a 'thing', right?" It's more a statement than a question.

"I don't know about you guys but I think its romantic," Monica chimes in, tilting her head to the side and smiling to her husband who shakes his head at her. Allyson turns to her with a mischievous smirk.

Monica's imagery is pretty bold. Her thoughts are a combination that ranges from picturing their hostages in a collage of heated kisses to passionate encounters in alleys and patrol cars; all spiced with the writer's loving narration of their desire for one another until their faces morph into her and John's, a mix of reality and fantasy that almost makes her blush.

Allyson has learned to recognize these mental spaces that she often sees in their memories; she doesn't ask, well… not that much. She knows that they were particularly fond of the white counters in the basement office and Monica's bathtub. It's more than she needs to know, she thinks with a grimace as Monica's thoughts turn to an even more risqué scenario.

"That's not _exactly_ what you're thinking," she corrects the woman, narrowing her eyes at her and halting her thoughts. She loves Monica's pervy mind.

"I'm not even gonna pretend," she snickers throwing her hands in the air, sharing a knowing moment with her and Allyson shakes her head.

"How much longer?" she asks, impatient, returning her attention to Mulder. A loud knock comes from the direction of their improvised cell.

"I guess not much," Mulder responds. "Bring them out." She sobers up as she throws him a look and hands him back the tablet; she checks on him and he nods, reassuring her.

She can't help it, she worries about everything and nothing, and sometimes she wonders if it will ever change.

Allyson climbs off the table and unzips her jacket as she approaches the cell, draws her hand to her gun, alert as she unlocks the bolt of the door and opens it.

The woman in front of her stands her ground, tough, but she can sense her nerves, as much as she's trying to hide them. The man is right behind her, observant, trying to seem secure even though Allyson can hear the chant of pleas he has going on in his head.

"No ties?" she asks in Mulder's direction.

"No need." Allyson follows her boss's lead, takes a deep breath and motions them towards their huddle. The group stands on attention as their captives approach and she keeps guard behind. You can never be too safe.

"Have we reached an agreement?" Mulder asks.

"We have a few more conditions," the detective informs them, a stern look on her face.

"We're all ears," Mulder says, leaning against the table.

"If we go with your plan and I go back to my precinct, I'd still have to explain why Castle is not with me, why I don't have William with me," the woman explains, feet firm on the ground while her partner carefully studies them. Allyson can easily see that he's cataloging them. The woman's voice speaks of authority, not waiving in this negotiation. "I still need to catch my killers. I need a better guarantee."

"We're not handing back the child if that's what you're getting at," John says, cutting her off. Allyson trades a look with him, trying to connect with him. 'Let her finish', she thinks.

"No, but you're handing me the killers," the detective requests, and the group trades a glance between themselves. "If they're after you, if they're so relentless, it won't be long until they find you."

"So you want to use us as bait?" Allyson asks, reading into the woman's plans, her question making Beckett turn to her and give her a silent nod, her eyes seizing her.

"That's quite the risk," Mulder assesses.

"We're talking about exposure here…" Monica adds.

"It's either that or you don't get the drawings," Beckett warns. The woman's set on it and she won't budge. "And Mulder comes with us. That way we'll make sure that you live up to your word."

Allyson focuses on the writer, trying to read his reaction and she shakes her head at his own inner dialogue; he's taken by this woman alright, she can hear him cheering her on as if his partner could hear him too, his thoughts laced with a thick layer of awe.

"How do we know that you're not going to turn us in?" John asks, still wary and protective. "You need to explain your disappearance after all."

"She won't," Mulder responds to their partner's query, "because… she believes me. Because she knows that our escape depends on me as well."

He turns to Doggett who looks as if he needs a clue. "They don't know that we exist; they're hunting whoever killed Jane and George and wanted to get to William. That's what will matter to the NYPD. For all they know, the others, not us, intercepted our guests right here. It will be up to us to lead them to the shooters…"

"Or you'll be spending the rest of your life in Rikers… maybe worse." Castle completes the statement and everyone turns to him, his voice sealing the gravity of their plan.

Mulder trades glances with his partners and she can sense his hesitation; he's not masking his thoughts from her, he can't, he knows better than that. She's overwhelmed as the fears of everyone crowd in on her own, making for an intense chatter that makes it hard to focus.

"I don't see that we have any other choice."

Allyson's head snaps up at the voice that comes from her right and her eyes focus on the petite red head coming into the room and raising everyone's attention, halting the noise.

The writer and the detective startle at the new presence in the room, instinctively taking a step back as she approaches Mulder's side.

"Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle… meet Dana Scully."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> I'm so excited to write what's coming, I can barely hold it in. It might take a couple more days than the pace I've been updating because, well, real life is going to get in the way.
> 
> Seriously thankful of all of you that are reading and continue to spread the word, big love to DancingDragon42, you rock girl, thank you for giving me the prompt for this. Go read all of her stories!
> 
> The biggest heart as always goes to my partner in crime, KyInHI, because she's an specialist reading Venezuelan English and putting up with my marathon #21st!
> 
> P.S. - Joss, you're going to have to wait for those Super Soldiers!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I don't see that we have any other choice."
> 
> "Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle… meet Dana Scully."

Silence has taken over the room, as if every member of the team is waiting for the woman's next words.

Kate can feel her scrutiny; Scully's penetrating, blue eyes studying her, holding her gaze. Beckett can easily see that this woman is a force to be reckoned with; her posture screams power and defiance, a true contrast with her short stature and the soft, classic features of her face.

Kate follows her gaze as Scully's attention drifts to Castle; her eyes analyze him just as meticulously and Castle shifts on his feet. The new presence in the room took him by surprise as well, but he's studying her right back, collecting details that she can already imagine will make their way into a book.

He'd write lines upon lines about how her blazing red hair frames her pale, smooth skin, the spray of freckles and distinguished nose, the small mole above her mouth that purses as if it was stung by a bee.

The woman must be pushing forty but the age doesn't really show on her. Her attire speaks of comfort but doesn't hide her figure; a dark turtleneck that clings to her athletic torso, accentuate without being showy. She's slim, but strong, like her posture. She must be only around the 5'3", Beckett guesses, but she's sporting a pair of weathered, high-heeled, knee-high boots over her dark wash jeans; it diminishes the height difference between her and Mulder, somewhat, and though he still towers over her, it's plain to see the respect that Scully demands. Kate's eyes travel to the thigh holster, it cradles a Beretta M9; a reliable and effective pistol, just like her own Glock 17. A no nonsense firearm, she notes; the woman must have serious training..

She can't help but find things in common with her, she does this every time she runs into a figure like this woman; she wonders if Castle is doing the same.

"All good?" Mulder asks Scully, and she sees him place a careful hand on the small of the woman's back, drawing her attention back to him. Her eyes transform immediately, softer, caring, so many feelings transmitted in just one glance, and Kate wonders if this is what others see when she looks at Castle.

"Yeah, he finally went down," Scully informs.

They must be referring to William, Beckett thinks.

"But I doubt that he'll be asleep for long, he's too excited." She gives him a tightlipped smile, a tinge of amusement in her words.

Kate can't help but worry about the boy. With everything that he must have experienced in his short but crazy life, these 'fantastic' ideas could sway him to people that humor his so-called 'mission', people that could very well lead him into even more danger. She can't fight the plethora of contradictions that are running through her head; there's just too many to make any logical sense. It throws her off balance, especially when she's about to challenge every conscious fiber in her being to go forward with her plan.

"I don't blame him." Mulder responds with a lukewarm smile, his eyes seem to look for reassurance and the woman responds to it, her shoulders relaxing just the slightest. He doesn't linger much longer and clears his throat, his eyes traveling back to Beckett.

"I should introduce you to the rest of us," Mulder proposes in a conciliatory manner. He points at the tall woman behind him. "This is Monica Reyes; she also used to be FBI, like Scully and I." She regards them with a small nod and crosses her arms loosely over her chest. Kate meets her eyes and the woman responds with a half grimace, darting her eyes to the ground.

"John Doggett," Mulder continues, introducing the rugged man, "also former FBI, former Marine, and a former colleague of yours; he used to be NYPD." Beckett directs her attention to her right. John gives them a half salute with his hand.

"That sounds like ancient history…" John comments, his tone bitter sweet.

"And… behind you," Mulder continues, "Allyson Phoenix."

Kate turns on her feet to look at the young woman; she's examining her and she can't help but feel a bit intimidated by her deep gaze.

"No FBI, no police… just… your average kickass renegade." The girl grins cheekily; Kate can't help but to like her. Allyson shifts her eyes to Mulder and shakes her head in amusement.

"So… Detective Beckett," Scully addresses her, the tone of her voice returning to her previous business tenor. "I trust that you know already what's at stake here… this plan of yours has to be bullet proof."

She doesn't need to be reminded of it, not at all. She's risking everything that she's worked so hard for, her job, her reputation, her life and… Castle's. She's trying to keep her nerves at bay but a small mistake could make this whole situation turn for the worst.

Beckett has to find a way to push all her doubts away. She needs to bring her A-game, trust that the nagging questions that poke at her will eventually be answered.

Kate knows that she's forcing herself into new territory. Normally, she'd be the first one to avoid this. But if these past years have taught her anything, it is that her world has become a shifting matter. Every belief she held close, every truth, every notion of justice has become a grey zone that has had to adapt to new knowledge, new politics… it's as if she's opening her eyes to a new level of awareness that had previously been hidden from her.

She holds her hand to her chest, fidgeting with a button of her jacket; her fingers close to where a small scar had marked her existence, a turning point in her life. It made her question everything; her past, present and future. After the pain had subsided, it had grounded her, served as a reminder of all she had fought to overcome.

Now, the string of events that surround the absence of that reminder have turned her world upside down, again.

"I'll deliver our part of the deal, you worry about yours." Beckett assures the woman.

"Well that's exactly the problem," Monica interjects. Kate can tell that the woman is not at ease with the proposed plan. "We've spent all this time hiding, and getting good at it. How do we work in reverse without risking our lives?"

"Becoming the hunter instead of the target," Mulder says, and his voice holds hesitation that she senses he's trying to keep down.

"Easier said than done." Doggett's words match Monica's in weariness as he scratches the thick stubble on his face. "That's too much of a risk, man."

"You know that there's a way…" Allyson says to him, and Kate can sense that there's a debate that has been had in the past about this topic.

"No, Ally… No, you can't," John cuts her off, protectively.

Beckett is immediately curious about what's not being said but she fights off her detective instincts, giving priority to her common sense. It's better not to get more involved in their quest; no more than they already are.

"John, we'll figure out our end of the deal between us," Scully intervenes, eyeing both of them. "In the meantime, I need to know the play-by-play of their plan."

Beckett takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts and finding the best way to explain them to the woman.

"It's not simple, nor the best plan," she begins, making eye contact with all of them. "I'd be putting not only the life of my partner in danger but also my integrity… However, it's the best I can come up with right now."

She takes a pause to seize them, but also buying herself a couple of seconds to run the steps in her head.

"Go on," Mulder encourages.

"You're former FBI. You'll know how to play the part," she continues, addressing Mulder. "We'll come back to my precinct and present you. The story would be that you'd been following the shooters, intercepted them as they caught us, but were only able to get to me, leaving William and Castle behind."

"Won't they verify his credentials?" Monica asks.

"Leave that up to me," Allyson assures, dismissing her question with ease.

"While we are there," Beckett continues, dismissing her own questions about how they'd be able to manage to forge Mulder's identity, "we'll both be able to get a hold of the drawings. You can copy…"

"We need the originals," Mulder interrupts her.

"Why the originals?" She's curious.

"It's not just about what they say… copies won't work," he affirms, trading glances with Scully. More of this mystery is yet to unfold and she wonders if she'll be able to suppress her need to know the truth behind all of it.

"We'll figure out a way, then…" she concedes, putting off figuring out this part of the plan until the moment they have to face it.

"They'll want to mobilize to rescue your partner and William, to know if you have any clues…" Reyes remarks, pointing at the sensitive parts of Beckett's plan.

"I won't have any, but he will," she responds, pointing at the importance of Mulder's presence in her scheme. "We'll have to come up with a story for them, that gives them some clues but not too many. Only feed them enough details to keep them feeling like they are moving forward, and only if necessary."

"With Mulder acting as part of the investigation, it will be easier to not raise suspicions when you deliver your part of the deal," Kate explains, and Mulder nods in understanding, following along with the plan so far. Beckett pauses; she needs to be sincere about her own hesitations when it comes to involving this so-called 3rd party.

"If this group is as dangerous as you claim," she says, her voice laced with a slight smear of dread. She looks at Castle; she knows he also fears the same thing. "I don't want to put my people in any unnecessary danger, I don't want to make them a part of this operation."

Doggett and Reyes trade looks; she can see that they're as nervous as she is. If she has a laundry list of threats that she fears, she can't help but wonder how long theirs is.

"The plan will have to adjust once we face them, once we know how far along in the investigation they are," she considers; she knows that by now they must have been exploring every lead, every clue that they could have found in the original crime scene and her cruiser. "…And I will have to figure how much we can deceive them."

This last part makes her nauseous. She doesn't want to do this to her own team but her choices look slim. She can't be sure that they would understand, that they wouldn't try to talk her out of this.

It wouldn't be the first time that she's kept them out of the loop when it came to solving a case, but this time she would be lying instead of withholding information. It's completely different when she's had to do it for the sake of national security or some other bureaucratic rule; when she's been ordered by another sanctioned agency, the guilt somehow watered down when caused by a superior and not because she's purposely being dishonest.

They probably won't know that she's lying, at least not right away, but she'll be aware of it, all the time, for the rest of her life.

And she has a reason to feel leery about this deceit. Even collaborating with the CIA, they had been dragged into a plan that had them cooperating with dangerous criminals in the past. They'd been so close to not being able to turn that situation around, so close to aiding in the assassination of an innocent little girl, of triggering a domino effect that would have unparalleled consequences. She can't ever forget about Sophia Turner.

She pushes the thoughts away; she's learned from that situation, she knows the red flags now… and she'll be ready to spot them. They will now play by her rules.

"I'll still abide by your condition of leaving my partner behind." Kate continues, trading looks with Castle and trying to push down the involuntary stutter in her voice. "I don't know the scope of abilities you have to forge Mulder's identity without raising suspicions, hence, I can't foresee if we'll be able to operate without NYPD's reigning jurisdiction over the case, but we will definitely be part of the operation regardless of any limitations we may run into."

Mulder and Scully nod in understanding to the limits of the plan, and Beckett wonders as well how many other variables they're going to have to face.

"You have to find us a sure fire way to hand the shooters to the NYPD," she says, adding the final steps of the setup, "where you'd be able to release Castle in the vicinity making it seem that he's been held by them this whole time."

"When all the pieces are confirmed, Mulder can walk away with the drawings." she says, completing her sketch of a plan, waiting for them to consider their options.

"I say that's a plan that has a lot of loose ends… but nothing we try to do will be any more solid," Allyson considers, and John rolls his eyes at her. "I can come up with a new identity for you," she offers to Mulder, calculating her tasks. "We don't want any of your previous fame bringing any more attention to us."

"If we're going to fake an FBI operation, why can't we all join in, take over jurisdiction and get this over with?" John asks, impatient.

"Because chances are someone would recognize you and me," Monica says, her voice grim and eyes deep, connecting with him, pointing at the flaw in that plan. "You and I were very involved with the NYPD with your son's case…"

'More details, more back story,' Kate thinks as she wonders what happened to Doggett's son. The man's face has turned sullen and intense.

"Let's play it by ear," Scully suggests, trying to regroup. "We will still have to explain the fact that the shooters won't have William in their possession."

"That's easy," Castle assures, drawing the attention of the room, "but I'd rather wait until we know the state of things on the other end to act on it."

Kate looks at him, curious; he must be doing his own math, stretching his own plotting abilities. And then it hits her, he won't be there to be her partner in crime. She's going to have to learn how to trust this other man, a man that's threatening every possibility of going back to their previous reality.

Mulder looks around him and the members of his team seem to confirm their silent yet reserved agreement to this plan.

"One last thing," Beckett says, carefully. "Before we go and start any of these actions, I need to speak to William. I need to make sure that he's alright."

Scully's head snaps up at her, an inquiring and perfectly manicured eyebrow rising on her forehead.

"Now, why would you suppose that I'm going to let you do that?"

Beckett braces at the woman's defiant tone, she has to admit that her negotiation skills are being compromised by her fears. But she cannot let that become her weakness; she has to make it her strength.

"Because I've been functioning on trust here," she responds to the woman. Their stances mirror each other; hands on hips, backs straight, their expressions challenging each other's ground.

"This entire plan has been based on blind belief that this crazy situation you and your people have brought us into is true, Beckett continues, pointing out the unlikely character of the facts that set this whole thing in motion. "I need to ensure his wellbeing, I need to make sure he's okay with you."

"You don't get to put conditions on over William," Scully responds, aggravation and incredulity growing in her voice. But Kate stands strong, she won't back down, this is not negotiable.

"How do I know that you're really his mother?" she responds, and she knows that she's probing into a sensitive matter. Mulder looks at her and she wonders if he's regretting sharing their entire story with them. Scully regards him with a look that grows angrier by the minute, distancing herself from the man. "If any of this story is true," Beckett continues, "and you once gave him away fearing his own safety, how do I know he's not better off without you?"

This last question sets the woman before her in a spin, barely able to control her anger when Beckett questions their intentions.

On the one hand, she needs to challenge her like this, dig until she relieves her of the controlled posture that she's held onto until now. Only then will she'll be able to spot Scully's weaknesses.

On the other… she's kicking herself over having to poise these questions and assumptions onto what seems to be a fiercely loving mother.

She knows this might seem like a low blow; she knows it hurts to have your child used against you even though she's not a parent. She's criticized these antics before, but right now the one thing she has to protect is this child. She needs to cover every angle and not get distracted by the whole complexity of the goals that need to be achieved.

"You have no right to tell me what's best for my son!" Scully says through gritted teeth, walking up to her. The woman has no hesitation to get in her face, and Kate feels her own interrogation techniques being used against her.

"You think that this was the preferred option? You think that letting go of the most important thing in our lives was an easy decision?" she continues, questioning Beckett's argument. The former FBI agent is not at all intimidated by the height of the woman before her and her intense eyes almost make Kate feel like she doesn't have the physical upper hand anymore. "You don't have the slightest idea of the sacrifice this meant for us."

Beckett doesn't respond as Scully still stands in a staring match with her. The woman's breath comes out ragged and her brow is crinkled in concentration, expecting a response from her counterpart.

The room grows silent; the weight of the argument hangs in the air.

"We are aware," Castle responds, his voice almost soothing, as he closes the distance between himself and Kate protectively. Leave it up to him to try to be conciliatory, she thinks. But he would also understand this situation on another level; his own fatherly sensitivities must be kicking in. "Detective Beckett is just trying to do her job, it would be irresponsible of her otherwise."

Beckett feels some of the tension subside at Castle's intervention in their conversation but Scully doesn't waiver, she's now directing the same angry stare at him. Scully can yell and complain all she wants, but this is the truth; she can't just look the other way when it comes to the life of an innocent.

Mulder clears his throat, breaking the silence and drawing Scully's attention to him. She turns, hesitant, and he points to William who's standing at the threshold of the door, preparing to come into the room.

"It's Okay, Mom. I want to talk to Kate, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: (From OG post on FFN)
> 
> So this one took longer than I expected, with the holidays and all and well, as I'd warned, real life. Why can't we all live just by writing and that's it!?
> 
> I've also procrastinated on my other fics, I should continue those as well!
> 
> As always, my undying love to all of you that review and spread the word. I know that finding this fic is hard because of the categories here at FFN, so everytime I get a new reader I know it is because you are really interested!
> 
> Big hugs to my girl Ky! You rock my socks everytime. The next one will be filled of her requests, this one had a few of them.
> 
> Please leave me your REVIEWS, as they are the best payment for this labor of love ;)


	8. Chapter 8

"It's Okay, Mom. I want to talk to Kate, too," William says, his voice calm and small; Scully's expression changes immediately.

Beckett can see that the redhead didn't want the boy to be a part of these conversations and regret fills her face, obscuring her features.

"Honey, I'm sorry, did we wake you up?" Scully says lovingly, approaching the boy and carding her fingers through his hair. The boy leans into her touch and the gesture makes Kate feel even worse about their previous exchange. She knows that she hit many sensitive spots; she knows that she dug into wounds that seem to be open and still bleeding.

"I wasn't really sleeping, I wanted to draw," he responds, dismissing Scully's concern and trying to make his way to the group.

Kate can feel Castle's presence next to her and its reassuring. She's starting to feel chagrinned, the short exchange between Scully and William conveying to her a depth of emotion she wasn't until then sure about.

"It's really late, why don't you…" Scully tries to stop him from walking further into the group, but he turns to her, and Kate cannot help but admire this kid's demeanor; he's so calmed and collected, so sure of himself.

"It's okay. I need to talk to Kate," he says, reassuring the woman and directing his attention to the detective. There's something about this kid's eyes that dig into her soul, into her thoughts; it puts her on edge. Every piece of her is awakened in some sort of awareness that she hasn't felt before. The room is silent, broken only by a few dulled echoes of water dripping somewhere off in the distance and the rustling of clothes as the inhabitants shift from foot to foot. No one wants to speak to this kid, no one dares.

Kate cannot help but feel a bit uneasy about what the boy might want to tell her. What if he's truly scared of them and this is just an act to try and get away? If that's the situation, then her current plan won't be able to remedy that. She should have demanded to speak to him before proposing anything, she thinks, berating herself. She should have been smarter.

"William, honey, we're having an adult conversation." Scully tries to persuade the boy from getting exposed to any more of this. "Why don't you go back to bed and we'll come and get you when we're done?" But he won't have it; he's resolute in his intentions.

"But... Kate needs to talk to me, right?"

William makes eye contact with Beckett and she tries to remain neutral, to not bring any unnecessary anxiety to the boy, but there's no need to cover her feelings. She knows that this boy can read her. However it happens, whatever faculty he possesses, she knows that she's exposed to him.

"She's just scared… like all of them," William says to Scully, his voice just above a whisper.

The mood of the group has changed since he entered the room. Doggett and Reyes stand back, letting Scully take command of the negotiation, and Mulder seems unfazed, as if this is what it was to be expected.

Any other parent would enforce discipline, but not them. Then again, what kind of authority do they have over him? If they are indeed his parents, the reunion is recent and they have no real claim to William's trust. Right now, the situation plays as if they're talking to an equal, to someone that has an equal capacity to assimilate to this situation.

Scully turns to Beckett and Castle and seems to evaluate the situation, her gaze flitting between them, her lips pursed thoughtfully. The boy is set on having this conversation with the detective and Kate can see Scully's reluctance to go against the boy's wishes in a sterner manner. She checks with Mulder, who seems to agree with the approach that she's taken, and by their eye exchange Kate can see that these two have a very solid silent communication between them. There's no need for words; it's something that only comes from knowing the other thoroughly.

"Alright, young man... let's make a deal," Scully says, turning to William and adjusting his jacket. "Detective Beckett, Allyson, and I will come and tuck you in. You can talk while we're at it. How does that sound?"

Beckett instantly wonders, why the sudden addition of the young woman to the proposed scenario? Maybe it's just the need to have the upper hand; a feminine presence instead of an intimidating male one, Kate rationalizes… Someone else in the room, just in case she tries anything.

"Deal." The boy nods eagerly in agreement and holds Scully's hand. She straightens up and turns to Allyson, nodding at her in more of this silent communication.

The girl approaches Kate and starts ushering her to the room; Kate follows, her heels clacking against the concrete floor in an obscene disruption of the quietness of the space. She throws a last glace at Castle, regretting the fact that they will be apart for this.

Even though she intends this conversation to be a brief one, she can't help it when her heart pounds faster, as her nerves threaten to take over and flood her with irrational fear.

But Castle can read her as well, and with a nod and the intense yet serene look of his eyes, he lets her know that he's alright, that she's got this; to go on and do what needs to be done. He's got her back. Always.

Kate feels William's hand hold onto hers, so small in comparison to her own. It snaps her back to the moment, his big blue eyes warmly searching hers.

"Come on," he says, tugging her towards him, excitement shining in his eyes. "We have to finish our talk… and, I have important things to say."

Both women follow his lead into the room, walking side by side as William drags them by the hand, and Kate takes a moment to study the redhead. She looks at the petite woman, her profile perfect, as if chiseled in white marble. She keeps her gaze straight ahead thoughthough; not letting Kate read into her eyes or discern her feelings about the situation. For the briefest of moments she sees the blue pools throw her a look out of the corner of her eye, but then it's gone.

Scully reaches for the door, letting them in and William lets go of their hands and rushes to the cot that's placed by the far wall of the room. He jumps on top of the blankets and sleeping bags that lay crumpled on the mattress.

The space is not much different than the makeshift cell that she and Castle were just locked into, the same dim light and musty odor, but William doesn't seem to mind. Kate stops in the middle of the room as Scully approaches the boy, and she hears the metal click of the lock snapping softly into place behind her. She turns her attention to the sound and is met by Allyson's intense eyes. The girl seems to be studying her as she leans onto the wall, crossing her arms over her chest and surveying the scene.

Yeah, this woman is here for a reason.

* * *

"Are you warm enough?" Scully asks William, her motherly instincts on the surface as she covers the boy with the sleeping bag, trying to make him comfortable as he lies down on the small cot. She caresses his face, pushing his bangs off his forehead and tapping on the freckles that pepper his face.

"Yes, toasty," he responds with a half giggle, luxuriating in her gaze; it makes her heart skip a beat. She's been craving this so much; stroking her son's dewy skin, hearing his laugh and looking into his eyes… the very same shade of blue that she had to walk away from so many years ago.

She's not going to relive those moments, not right now; she can't allow herself a minute of that. Scully knows the importance of this particular situation. They're so close. If they play their cards right they will be able to escape, they will be able to continue running together. She gathers the drawing supplies that lay scattered on top of the covers, the sketchpad filled with more signs. He's been hard at work.

"Can Kate sit with me?" he requests, and Scully has to push down the surge of territorial feelings that rise within her. He looks at her deeply, and she tries to mask her eyes away. She knows that there's no point to it though, knows that he can read her feelings, and that's something that she needs to learn how to navigate.

"Sure." Scully looks at the tall woman standing awkwardly in the room; she's fidgeting, bouncing on her heels. "But like we agreed, William; short talk, then sleep." She gets up from the cot, grabs William's drawings and makes room for Kate to take her place.

Beckett sits gingerly by the boy's side. The woman seems to be holding a breath and Scully wonders what it is that they need to talk about. She wonders why he is feeling so at ease with someone that he has just met. Even she hasn't had enough time to rekindle the relationship with her son; not in the precious few moments that they have spent together in the last couple hours.

"She's good; you don't have to be afraid," William says, reassuringly, and Scully doesn't quite know if he's referring to her or the woman by his side.

"Are you okay?" William asks, this time looking directly at the detective.

"I should be the one asking you that," Kate responds, a warm but nervous smile on her face.

"Everything will be alright, we're almost there," William says. His voice sounds so calm and wise; Scully can't help but feel that her son is just trying to ease the tension that he knows is haunting everyone in the room.

"I just want to make sure that you feel safe," Beckett says, gently. Scully knows that she was once in this position; with another boy, with similar abilities. Gibson Praise wasn't her son but she had felt the same need to protect him, to make sure that she could guard his life even though she didn't fully understand the boy's faculties; even when she had felt naked in his presence, just like she feels right now.

This time is different though. If there was ever a moment to make things right, this is it. This is their only chance to follow the path that they had abandoned and that now has come back to claim their lives; to push them to do what's right, what's needed. Their lives are important, but much bigger is the mission that they have to complete. They are the most important piece of this game, even though the rest of the humanity is oblivious to it.

"I am safe. I'm supposed to be with them. She's my real mom, you know?" he says, holding her hand. "You need to help them. We need you. You know I'm telling you the truth, and so are they."

The detective doesn't respond, and Scully imagines that she's still battling with her options and the decision to go with the plan that they've agreed to follow. She's trying hard to put herself in this woman's shoes, even when her primal response has her wanting to inflict some sizeable harm on the woman. 'You would have done the same,' Scully thinks, trying to convince herself, but it's hard when the last few years have convinced her that Mulder was right on this one. Trust no one.

Beckett takes a deep breath and William reaches for her, softly touching her cheek; he's such a sweet boy, he should be living a different life. Scully wonders what he's seeing in this woman that he trusts her so implicitly. For a moment she envies that she cannot be this innocent, or be more impartial so as to analyze this situation.

Long ago are the times when conspiracies and painful memories didn't fill her mind and her heart; times when the harshest things she had seen only belonged in the sick annals of human nature, and not some kind of universal plot to see the demise of their kind.

She doesn't quite remember the feeling anymore, to shed the day with a warm bath and a good book. Now, all she can sense is the overwhelming weight on her shoulders, the drive to keep pushing forward. They're here to finally put an end to the Machiavelic scheme that took over their lives.

She checks the sketchpad, William has made at least four new drawings. She recognizes some of the symbols, but they seem so different in her son's clumsy calligraphy. She makes a mental note to not disturb the order they're in. Everything needs to go perfectly.

She returns her attention to the cot and she sees her son place his hand chastely on the detective's chest, above her heart, and Scully wonders when he learned to feel this empathy for others. How did he make peace with things he was too little to understand? His innocence had been robbed as well.

"You know it will be alright. Don't you?" He winks at the woman and she lets out a shuddery breath, smiling at him and nodding. Scully is curious about the exchange between them; there's something more that's not being said and she turns to look at Ally who's picked up on it as well.

The girl is staring intently at the pair, with a Cheshire smile on her lips. She must feel Scully's stare on her because she turns to her hiding an amused smirk. Scully needs to know and mouths a furtive 'what' to her, but Ally dismisses her, demurely shaking a hand at her.

"I need my drawings. We need to find the place," William continues, burying further into the bed and making himself more comfortable. "Without them we won't be ready."

"William, what is this place you speak of?" The detective sounds genuinely curious and Scully can't blame her. The woman's features seem softer in the dim light, not so defiant. If only it were so easy to explain. They don't even know what this place actually is, or where it is located.

"When I close my eyes I see it," he begins to explain, slowly closing his eyes to demonstrate. There is almost a dreamlike sound to his voice. Maybe it's the images of this place that fill his mind; or maybe he's just tired and the fatigue is getting the best of him, Scully thinks. "It's safe, and we should get there soon. They're waiting for us," William says between yawns.

"Who's 'they'?" Beckett asks, her curiosity growing, but her voice still a soothing tenor.

"The fighters, the ones like us; the silent warriors," William explains, as if this is the most normal thing to say to a person.

Sometimes Scully still wonders how this makes sense, and she takes pity on this woman at last.

"I know your plan, its good, and you will be okay. Don't be afraid." William's voice drifts, tiredness finally creeping up on him.

Scully starts her way to the bed and checks on Ally to signal that the conversation needs to end. The girl wears an expression of wonder on her face, almost surprised and Scully doesn't understand.

"What?" Scully asks Ally, just above a whisper and the girl takes her aside.

"We're gonna be fine," Ally whispers in her ear, a tinge of amazed amusement in her voice. "She knows."

Scully meets her eyes, 'what do you mean?' she thinks, but the girl doesn't clarify, barely able to hold in the excited smile that she's sporting.

"Trust me," Ally mouths at her. Scully raises an eyebrow at her in brief agreement and turns to the cot.

"I think this is enough… he needs to rest." Her voice is calmer this time when she addresses the detective.

"Yeah," Beckett agrees, slowly getting up from the bed and holding William's hand in reassurance. "I'll be back soon; I'll bring your drawings. Just be safe, okay?"

"I am, I will," he responds, almost out cold, serene, drifting out to sleep.

* * *

Castle has moved to sit at the table, tired of pacing in the same spot. Everyone is still on the edge but occupying themselves with menial tasks around him, and he senses this is their own way to placate their nerves.

The space has gotten colder, and he predicts that they should be nearing the hours just before dawn, when the temperature drops before the sun comes up. He wonders if the guys at the precinct are looking for them; have they warned their families? They learned their lesson after the last time they went through this situation, he hopes the boys realize this and haven't written off their disappearance as simply taking off work early. He mentally scoffs at himself; they have been kidnapped and on the run, alright, but he's sure that he never actually thought that he'd be adding "Fighting Aliens" to the plethora of situations that they've found themselves in.

The women have been in the room for some time. He's so used to being able to listen into every interrogation, to see Beckett gather precious information that would break a case, but this situation is so different. They're forced to work blindly.

He knows that she's battling her own nerves… and the unbelievable things that have happened today. He's still trying to make sense of it all.

He wouldn't be surprised if a few minutes from now this all happens to be a dream; to find himself waking up next to her, a tangle of legs and warm sheets, her breath coming in soft puffs and caressing his chest as she snuggles next to him in the early morning light.

He doesn't remember falling asleep though.

Monica has been packing and repacking an assortment of supplies that had been resting on the metal shelves by the far wall. There have been hushed exchanges between her and Doggett. The man has been standing by her, feigning patience while handing her items to pack into a couple of coolers. The rustling of their clothes as they continue in their methodic routine is almost hypnotic.

Castle can tell by his posture that John's having trouble staying put; crossing his arms at different heights over his chest, tucking his hands into his pockets, moving them to his face to absentmindedly scratch at his skin. It's funny, but he reminds him of Beckett. He seems to be a straight-laced, authority figure, with not an ounce of patience for nonsense.

Mulder offers Castle a cup of coffee and he takes the steamy cup from the man, his hands immediately feeling the comfort of the warmth radiating from it.

"So you're a writer…" he says, settling across from him.

"Yeah," Castle responds, taking a sip of the warm beverage. It isn't too bad; he was totally expecting some version of gas station coffee, bitter and hard to swallow. He wills the caffeine to wake him up; he's beginning to feel the effects of sleep deprivation. They had come into the precinct early that morning, Kate wanting to get a head start and try to finish prepping for the trial of the Mickey Dolan case. They were almost done, planning for a night in, curled on her couch with wine and a movie, when they got the call for tonight's shooting.

"I've done some writing myself," Mulder informs him with a shy smile, snapping him out of his trance.

"Anything I might have read?" He's genuinely interested; there are more layers to this man and Castle wants to learn them all. Follow the story, understand it all.

"Hmm… I don't know," Mulder responds. The following statement comes with a small bit of sarcasm. "Probably not… unless you subscribe to end of the world journals or conspiracy theory magazines."

Doggett lets out a scoff, shaking his head in amusement and that earns him a playful slap from the woman beside him. Mulder doesn't take himself too seriously it seems, not by the smirk on his face.

"Well…" Castle tries to be polite.

"Don't worry about it, I know it's not everyone's cup of tea," Mulder dismisses him, easing the awkwardness that he must be reading on his face. He should work on that; he's supposed to be good at poker.

"What's your nom de plume?" Castle asks.

"M.F. Luder," Mulder responds, and there's a wince at his admittance. Even Castle can recognize that the anagram is not the most imaginative of word plays. But the name sounds familiar, and his mind instantly scans the loads of information stored in his head for no particular reason other than occupying precious space. He's heard this name before, he's sure of it.

"It's okay, I wouldn't blame you if you haven't," Mulder says, trying to prevent him from forcing interest in his works. But then Castle remembers.

"The Arecibo telescope," he says, the image of that dog-eared magazine popping in his head. "You wrote something about that, right?"

He had found it in one of the periodical publications shelves at the Library after he had heard of it in one of the conspiracy websites he browsed from time to time. The outlandish statements about government involvement in a planned alien invasion and their communication with these beings had made him scoff at times, but he had been enthralled by the fervor that the author had when making such statements. There was conviction behind every detail and proclamation.

"Wow, that's an old one," Mulder replies, surprised. "Yeah, that was some interesting research." He leans back on the chair, crossing his arms on his chest and propping his feet on the table. Castle can't tell if the expression on the man's face is smugness or his own way to make fun of himself.

He wonders what kind of experiences this man has been through to write such things. He remembered the article talking about how he had been chased out of the complex, his life on the line, and how the government had covered up a string of abductions that were closely tied to the WOW signal. If any of this is true, he had been inadvertently aware of this man's quest well before ending up involved in it himself.

"Yeah, I was toying with an idea I had for one of my 'Storm' novels," Castle explains, the memories of the research a blur, reminding him of many arguments with the editors at Black Pawn. "I was going to title it 'A Tropical Storm'." He still finds the name appealing.

"Did you ever write about it?" Mulder asks, curious.

"There were already too many affiliations to UFO lore that I couldn't avoid at the time."

The nineties was a decade plagued with so many of these references, the threat of the new millennium making it easy for the paranoia to be the natural state of mind. And while this was one of the things that favored the success of the hero in his novels, he would never have given the light of day to these kinds of topics. Even when Derrick's nature was to suspect every branch of the government, the operative's grudge rested a lot more on a different quest. "It wouldn't have matched my character. Derrick Storm is not exactly what one could qualify as a _believer_."

"No one ever qualifies as a believer," Doggett intervenes, an eyebrow raised with his comment and Castle wonders how much did this man fight this reality that they've found themselves in.

"I'd like to think that I'm open minded," Castle replies. And he truly believes that of himself. He's the one always pushing Beckett to think outside the box, beyond the rational limits that her experience corners her into sometimes. She might laugh at his quips and be annoyed at his incessant need to pin everything on spies, the mob and the CIA, but the truth is that his instincts are never _that_ far off. He doesn't let her know that he's keeping score of how many times he's been right in some way. She wouldn't like that. She's already annoyed by the fact that he's beating her in how many times he's saved her life.

"Well, you're gonna need a lot of that if you're sticking around us for a while," Reyes responds with a smile. But in reality, it feels like a warning. He wonders if he could have finally found the limit to the flexibility of his own theories.

The sound of a door opening draws their attention, and the sight of Kate walking out of the room unharmed makes him release a breath he didn't know he was holding. She makes a beeline straight toward him as he stands up from his seat.

"You alright?" He asks, searching her eyes. They're tired, but still so beautiful.

"Yeah," she whispers and grabs his hand. Their twined fingers tell him that her sudden need for contact matches his own. She's worried, but he's seen this face; she's also determined.

* * *

Allyson can't contain her smile while she follows Beckett and Scully out of the room. 'This is just… so… _wow_ ' she blabbers in her thoughts, not even able to formulate a sound opinion of it in her mind. She shakes her head in amusement and almost bumps into Scully who has slowed down in front of her and stops her in her tracks.

"What is it?" Scully asks, pulling her aside, not joining the group just yet.

Ally smiles at her, a hushed giggle escaping her lips. "Mulder? A word?" she calls out, signaling him to join them.

The man gets up from his seat and walks up to them.

"How did it go in there?" he asks them, standing next to Scully, taking a swig of his coffee.

"Your detective woman, she's hiding something…" Ally starts.

"What?" Scully asks, her voice growing in concern.

"Whoa, calm down. It's not what you think." Ally tries to ease the woman before her, connecting with her eyes until Scully relaxes her posture a little. "You brought me in there for a reason, and I listened; loud and clear."

Scully is standing in front of her, her hands on her hips, and Mulder places a hand on her shoulder, trying to ease her reaction. She takes a deep breath and Ally continues.

"Your boy, he can do a lot more than just… read thoughts," Ally informs them, giddy. She can't help but be marveled by the powers of the kid; the sense of discovery of another side of her own nature. He's like her, but so much more; he's more complex, with many more rooms in his mind to be discovered. It's a maze that she's excited to navigate. "He knows that I was listening in and he didn't even care, but that's not it."

She closes the distance between them until she is mere inches away. The next words she needs to speak carefully; it's information that she knows will have an important effect on the people before her.

"He healed her, and she knows it," she tells them, her eyes darting between Mulder and Scully's stunned expressions. Scully opens her mouth to speak but words don't come out. She turns to Mulder and he's covering his own mouth in stunned surprise. His eyes are smiling and his mind is racing with a million of implications, questions and awe. He's also wondering how many things they are still to discover about their son; what else they're not yet aware of.

"He healed her? Of what?" Scully finally asks.

"There's something on her chest… or, there _was_ ," Ally explains. The moment between Beckett and William was a conversation that had started before she was privy to the details, but she could still sense its transcendence. "It's something important, so important that she's still trying to make peace with it. She's all cluttered about it."

The detective's mind reminds Ally of a high school cafeteria, or a subway station; so many voices all screaming at once. Only that in Kate's case, it is beliefs and fears colliding at once with anxious feelings of what's right or wrong. What she should do versus what she desires. The constant stream of thoughts only takes brief pauses when she thinks of the man that now is standing by her side; as if the thought of him can manage to shut down the screams, if ever so briefly. The detective feels a sense of safety when his image comes to mind.

"He touched her…" Scully recollects the moment between her son and the woman.

"Yeah, but it didn't happen here. It must have happened atin the precinct, before we intercepted them," Ally assesses, and Mulder nods in understanding.

"We're just beginning to know the extent of his powers," he says, meeting their eyes, and running his hand through his hair, trying to find comfort within his own thoughts. "There's so much about him that we don't know yet."

"There's something else," Ally continues, and she can feel them tense up again.

"I was right. She wasn't taking William to the foster home, she didn't trust that place." Confusion brews in her friend's faces. They had intercepted the call, getting the information from the social worker. They had fought her at the time when she changed plans on a whim, they thought they had been lucky that Beckett had taken an alternate route. It turns out they had only been able to set the ambush on a different street than the expected route to the foster home because of her unknown connection to William. Ally laughs at herself for considering at the time that maybe the universe was helping them out in some way. William had known of Kate's plans, and what she thought was intuition, was only the beginnings of this amazing stream of thoughts she's sharing with the boy. Talk about connection, she thinks.

"She didn't want to leave him alone; she's really trying to protect him." Scully's expression matches the conflicting thoughts that swim in her mind. She's still so weary about trusting this woman, her protective instincts are on full alert, but even so, Ally can see a thread of rationality start to weave its way through.

"I know you're worried about this, but I think she's legit." The girl tries to calm Scully's fears; she knows that the woman trusts her. Scully knows that not only does she have enough judgment to appraise the detective's motivations, but she also has the sneaky upper hand of being able to see what all of them can't. Scully knows that she won't lie to her; she knows that she won't dismiss her fears if they're valid. "She really cares about him. I think we're good."

Scully meets her eyes, and for a moment all the thoughts in her head dim and a question arises. 'I wish I could also read your mind,' she hears Scully formulate; a helpless thought that makes her reflect on her own wishes. Ally has been there before, only wishing for the opposite. It's loud up in her head sometimes.

"What are you thinking?" Mulder asks Scully, his eyes boring into hers. She looks at him, biting her lip, fighting her next admission.

"I'm thinking that I was in her position once," Scully says, and Mulder nods, remembering the situation that had opened their eyes to a new level of awareness and to the scope of this conspiracy. Ally has heard the stories of the horrific experiments that they had done on Gibson, and she counts herself lucky that she managed to escape their grasp. She feels a sense of guilt from Scully over what she deems as a failure to protect the boy from such torture. She's still not over it, she still can't forgive herself. "Maybe I should give Detective Beckett a chance."

"Look, Scully, I understand your hesitation over this whole situation," Mulder states, trying to reassure her. "I have my own doubts as well, but we _need_ to do this."

She takes a deep breath and nods, a slow admission that they need to move on.

"We have to get going." Mulder nudges her, meeting Ally's eyes and squeezing Scully's shoulder before he goes back to the table.

* * *

Monica has finished her nervous packing and is looking at him expectantly. He's thankful that they are more than ready to ride this coaster with them, no matter what it entails. Mulder has found a good friend in the woman; she's always willing to entertain his wild theories, even when some of them might prove to be too outrageous. John and her make the oddest of couples, always questioning themselves but eventually meeting in the middle. If anything, their arguments serve for hilarious entertainment most of the time.

"So what's the next step?" Monica asks, settling down onto the chair.

"We're ready to get going," he responds, throwing the empty cup of coffee into the garbage.

"I'll get cracking on those credentials. Any preference?" Ally asks, extracting her laptop out of her backpack.

"Don't go too elaborate, just the standard stuff. No religious names, please." Mulder requests pointing at her, recollecting the many fake identities he's had to don during their operations. "I've had enough of those."

"Sure, sure." The girl gets busy, typing away on pre-designed templates that she's loaded into her Photoshop software. She's fast at this, everything part of a system that they've perfected.

"Prepare the kit," he continues in his instructions, and Scully takes command of that step, reaching for a case that lies under the table. "Detective Beckett and I will take the sedan back to Manhattan. We'll show up at her precinct. Fill them in."

Beckett, Reyes and Castle nod in understanding as he hears the noise of a compact, laser printer firing away the print outs of his ID.

"In the mean time, Monica, you and Ally start on our part of the deal." The older woman nods, trading looks with John.

"I still have an issue with that part of the plan," Doggett interjects.

"Trust her, she'll be alright," Mulder says, meeting his eyes and patting him on the shoulder.

It could read as if he's trying to calm his reticence but in reality this is an order. While Mulder has always manned this group as a collaborative effort, he's always held the power of decision when it comes to moments like these. It is never an easy situation, many times tension making their interaction harder than normal, but they always come to an agreement to hear each other out.

"What makes you think that they wouldn't be planning something similar?" Doggett continues, challenging Mulder's opinion. "For all we know they could be using their upper hand."

Mulder takes a moment to evaluate their options. He knows that right now they don't have any certainty and they will have to risk it, but the longer they take the more opportunity they're giving everyone to regroup.

They will have to be extra careful, and will need to get a grasp of the people involved in the investigation really fast. They can't leave room for any other agency to get involved. They will have to gain the trust of the NYPD, to get them to hand over the case to him, and minimize the possibility that others could be prying into their escape.

"We're gonna have to trust that we take over the operation first," Beckett intervenes in their conversation, and Mulder thanks the fact that the woman appears to be on the same page with him. "We need to move fast, before my people contact the FBI and our cover is blown."

He won't admit to it, but that aspect does make him nervous. It's a loose end and the entire plan rests on that aspect. He wouldn't want to show up at her precinct and have all their plans destroyed by bad timing.

"Here," Ally says handing him his dossier; a full description of the persona he's supposed to be this time.

He tucks the fake badge into his jacket and makes a mental note to remember it when he changes into his FBI attire. It's been a while since the last time he's even worn a button down shirt.

"We will have to be in contact at all times, every movement, every new development needs to be informed," Ally says finishing her recommendations.

Mulder doesn't think that this will represent a problem to them. After all, it wouldn't raise suspicions if the NYPD is sure that he's been following the Van de Kamps before. He prays that his story manages to just slip under the radar and they can continue as planned. Time is running out at every corner.

"Communication won't be a problem," Scully says, producing an ankle bracelet from the case and slipping a battery in it. They've used these before, for their own protection, especially when they've had to go on operations alone. A failsafe just in case they'd run out of ways to locate each other, stranded in the middle of nowhere, dead or alive.

"Are you serious?" Beckett asks in disbelief.

"We can't be too safe," Scully responds, patting the seat of the chair, signaling for Beckett to come forward.

The detective throws a glance at her partner who shrugs at her with a lack of words. She shakes her head and approaches Scully, lifting the boot of her pants in the process.

"Don't worry, I won't make it too tight. You'll still be able to run. It will only track your position," Scully says as she unzips the cuff of the leather boot and circles the woman's ankle with the device, snapping it in place. The red light comes alive and Scully twists the slim module so that she can zip the shoe back up. "Does that feel okay?" she asks, clearing her throat.

"As much as it ever will, I guess," Kate responds, twisting her foot in place, testing the range of motion and meeting the woman's eyes.

"Nice boots, by the way," Scully comments with a shy smirk and Mulder doesn't fail to appreciate the demure female bonding while he dons his own ankle bracelet. "I bet they're fun to run with."

He knows her well enough to know that she's trying to find common ground with the cop. In another reality, they'd probably let themselves share a lot more of these snippets of normality. They probably have a lot in common; similar tastes and stories to tell. The detective doesn't voice her response, but gives her a half smirk as she sets her foot back on the ground.

In the time that they've been on the run he's seen how Scully and Reyes have found a way to rely on each other; the need to build a friendship as a form of survival, a way to cope with the fact that they are living an isolated life.

He's built for this, his only need for socialization reduced to having Scully by his side, but she's different. He knows that she misses her family and the furtive friendships she built at the hospital while she tried to establish a normal life for them.

"Your profile is up in the server," Ally announces. "If they go in to check you out everything should be in order."

"That's it then," he responds. "Time to don that suit."

* * *

Mulder walks out of the room and Beckett takes advantage of this moment to regroup with Castle.

She walks up to him and they separate slightly from the group. She needs a moment to gather her thoughts before this plan rolls out. The man standing in front of her has always given her reassurance, even in the worst of times, but she cannot help the sick feeling that rests heavy in her gut.

Castle grabs her hands; they're trembling and she doesn't know if she can pin it to the temperature in the room or her nerves taking over.

"Are you sure about this? You'll have to take these drawings out of the chain of custody," Castle begins, stroking her arms, intent on comforting her. She sighs at his touch but she doesn't meet his eyes just yet. "You'll be lying to everyone, Kate. If you get caught this would cost you your job…"

"I know, Castle, don't you think I'm aware of that?"

She snaps at him harsher than she intended, and she instantly tries to reel back her temper. She takes a deep breath, meeting his gaze, finding his eyes looking at her patiently. He understands, he does. "I'm more concerned with leaving you behind."

She can feel the sting of tears in her eyes but she doesn't blink them back. She can't hide her fears from this man anymore.

"I'll be alright," he assures her, running a hand through her hair, smoothing the worry lines from her forehead and wiping the stray tear that escapes her lashes. His touch is warm and soft and she wishes she could just relish in it a moment longer.

"We'll be alright. I'll keep an eye on the kid." He winks at her, and she gives him a sad smile at his attempt at proving his value in the operation.

"I kind of feel that he will be the one keeping an eye in all of us," she states, and he nods in understanding. She hopes that they live to tell this story, even if it were only to end masked in the pages of a fantastic narration in a fiction novel.

"Don't tell any of this to Alexis or my mother," he requests. "The less they know about this, the better. We can't risk it." She nods in agreement. There's no need to involve anyone else in thisrisky plan.

"Ready to go?" Mulder asks, entering the room again and Beckett straightens her back at the sound of the man's voice.

"Yeah," she confirms, nodding over her shoulder. She turns to Castle one last time, letting one shuddering breath escape, tumbling out of her lips. His hand slips to her waist and under her coat, squeezing her hip, the touch translating the words that he's not saying.

"You got this," he says, his left hand cradling her cheek. She nods at him and Castle closes the distance between them to meet her lips, soft at first, but she needs more.

They don't need to be careful around these people; ironically, they're not hiding from prying eyes in this place.

Her hands come to his neck and her fingers twine in his silky hair, pulling him even closer. She hears him moan softly against her lips and she promises herself that this won't be the last time that she feels the warm feel of his lips on her own.

She breaks the kiss before she changes her mind, straightens the strands of hair that stick out on the sides of his head, and allows herself to wipe the moisture from his lips; one last caress.

He kisses her fingers, his eyes now filled with emotion.

"Until tomorrow," she says and he smiles at their intimate dialogue.

"Until tomorrow," he confirms. It's a promise.

She turns to the group and finds Scully straightening Mulder's tie; it dawns on her that she's not the only one parting ways. She's not the only one leaving important parts of her behind.

Doggett hands Mulder a briefcase and a Glock that he slips into his shoulder holster.

"You'll get your piece back, and everything else, once we're done," John informs her.

She nods in understanding, another inconvenient detail of this plan.

Mulder looks at his people, meeting each of their stares. This can't be easy for them either, seeing their leader walk away to expose himself to what could be a dangerous operation.

"Take care of the coop." Mulder shakes Doggett's hand briefly. Monica and John nod at him in twin regards, their faces revealing concern but holding back.

"Go kick it in the ass," Ally says, giving a silly high five to the man and Mulder smiles at her. They're a family, Kate appreciates, a weird one but still… a family.

Beckett throws one last glance at Castle who stands by himself, hands deep in his pockets; he gives her a tightlipped smile, and she nods back. Scully follows them on their way to the elevator.

"If anything should come up, you know what to do," Mulder instructs Scully and she nods in understanding. Kate wonders what their failsafe plan is. He pushes open the gates to the elevator and places his briefcase on the floor of the lift, turning to Scully and giving her a kiss.

"We'll be alright," he assures the redhead and she nods, separating herself from the man. Kate can see that this woman is probably running her own list of scenarios in her head, similar to her own, and the tough façade she's been sporting crumbles ever so slightly.

"Detective Beckett," Scully says to her, extending her hand. Beckett shakes it. It feels as if they're calling a truce.

"You take care of him…" Scully requests, her voice hushed in her plea and her eyes connecting with hers. Beckett studies the woman's expression and Mulder's. "You bring him back to me," the woman says finally.

Kate feels a knot form in her stomach and she nods at the woman, clearing her throat, trying to find her voice.

"And _you_ keep him safe," she says to her in an equal request that Scully matches with an understanding nod of her head.

Beckett takes a step back onto the elevator as Scully takes a deep breath and puts distance between them.

"Don't worry too much," Mulder says, winking at the woman standing outside the lift. He pulls on the doors and they creak heavily as they slam shut, surrounding them in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I love you all and your wonderful reviews. My B-day was last week, and wonderful it was. One of the most amazing gifts I received, was a video trailer for this fanfic. You can watch on youtube, just add this after the main handle: watch?v=It7thfdaP9Y
> 
> I've certainly never felt so honored. Thank you so much Joss! You're amazing.
> 
> As always, thanks so much to all of you that continue reading and reviewing. I really like continuing my conversation with you guys, so please leave me a review! And spread the word! Tell your friends, bribe your boyfriends into cosplay if they read this piece of madness. ;)
> 
> KyInHI... you know that you're the other part of my brain, now lets see if we can manage to stop watching Pitch Perfect.


	9. Chapter 9

The ride so far has been uneventful. Neither has uttered a word for the past ten minutes since they left the compound. By the looks of their surroundings they're in New Jersey, around Hackensack; the snow and darkness make it hard to recognize the area at first.

Mulder doesn't rush while he maneuvers through the slosh on the ground; certain streets haven't been serviced yet and the white stuff blankets the roads thickly.

"This is a fancy car," Beckett says, trying to break the ice. In reality she's wondering how it is that the Audi A6 Sedan fits the renegade life these people are living.

"It's Scully's," he responds. "I would never get anything as fancy as this, well... I'm lying, I've got another toy. She bought this one in 2010, before… before we decided what to do."

She ponders about how one goes about making such a decision, _deciding what to do_. She's had her moments, recently, when she thought that she needed a total cut off from what her life had been, from everything she's ever known. But Castle had eventually reeled her back to where she is meant to be.

Her thoughts must be loud enough though that he comments, breaking the silence. They have spent so much time out there, in a constant alert, that it shouldn't surprise her that this man can read her this way.

"Yes, that's at least two years on the road, if you're doing the math." His voice is filled with a hint of humor at her startled expression.

"Don't worry, I don't read minds as well," he states, his eyes darting from her to the road and back. Mulder's voice returns to a sober tone, his knuckles turn white when he grips the wheel, controlling the sway of the car as it hits an unexpected patch of black ice. "Not anymore."

His confession startles her but she hides it well. There's no need to seem more sensitive than needed to this man's revelations. She wants him to continue trusting her; the more she knows about them, the more that she'll be able to prevent events that she's sure will continue to creep up on them, on her.

"Did William get it from you?" She asks matter-of-factly, but genuinely curious, but he just shrugs. "What happened? Why can't you anymore?

"I went through this phase... I could read thoughts… see things differently. Not anymore."

They get on one of the main avenues, following the signs for the 95, headed for Manhattan. As they stop at a red light, people are already lining up at the bus stop; its 4:30am, and the city is starting to wake up. The familiarity of the route seems to have a calming effect on Kate, but at the same time the feeling in the car is still very foreign.

"I guess that you could say that in some way I could have passed those abilities on to him…" He continues, pensive after a while, the silence becoming too thick. "The truth is that we really don't know where his… faculties come from."

The trucks and service cars that cross the intersection seem strange to her, though they shouldn't be. She wonders if this is how Neo felt when he came back to 'his world'. Castle would be proud of her making a movie reference; if only in her head.

As they speed down the turnpike, she feels like she now possesses a chunk of information that could make her life take a 180-degree turn. For better or worse, she's not entirely sure. This man has presented her with such a complicated picture of their life, and now, they're unwittingly a part of it. They merge onto the 3 and cross Secaucus and Union City fast enough, headed into Manhattan now. There's no traffic, they will be on her turf in no time.

* * *

The man stares blankly at the encrypted email in front of him. It had been at least a year since he last heard from them, and even then, their communication had been brief and not very informative. _We're on the right path. We hope to not speak to you again._ But now, there it was, the coded message that meant that they needed help.

His help.

_Get in the car and call you mother, she misses your face._

Skinner closes the window to the remote server and takes a deep breath, wondering what they have gotten into. He reaches into his drawer for the key to his safe box, worry lines already creasing his forehead, a sign of the million thoughts crossing his mind. His hair is completely white now, no sign of the dark fuzz that he sported back when he met Fox Mulder over twenty years ago. It's been a long road, a long and treacherous one.

As he produces the cellphone from the green case, he already knows that he must prepare for whatever information will be waiting for him on the other end of the line.

There's just one number stored on the memory of the device; the only one that matters. He doesn't make the call, not yet. He will sneak out of his home for the call, like he hasn't had the need to do in so much time; the creep of anxiety courses through his veins.

He walks to his closet in silence, the phone still clutched in his left fist, and methodically dons his suit. He cannot help the thrumming of his pulse, quickening and pounding in his ears in anticipation. This is not the plan, but he knows what that message means.

He grabs a hold of his formal winter coat and scarf and heads downstairs. As he crosses the kitchen, he scribbles a note on a post-it, and sticks it to the fridge. The woman in his bed won't be happy and he's going to have to deal with leaving like this later. He hopes she can understand why he's leaving her out of the loop again. It has been a while, and this was supposed to be over.

As he sits in his car, he knows one thing; he's getting too old for this.

* * *

"How can you be so sure of all of this?" she asks, and she means it. Her mind is pulling at the last straws of her logic. This is your job, she repeats to herself. "Don't you stop to question it all? What if all of this is just the fantasy of delirious minds?"

"If there's anything to be said about this situation with William, it's that you could never be sure," he responds as they reach the bottleneck leading to the Lincoln Tunnel. "We're in this position because we asked those questions, and some of them were answered. He's one of those answers."

"It doesn't mean that those answers are the truth," she counters. The light changes and the cars in front of them rush into the dark as they enter the tunnel.

"You are correct. But when words fail to be convincing, actions prove to be pretty persuasive when it comes to making you believe." Mulder exchanges a quick glance with Beckett, his profile enhanced by the intermittent flood of the lights along the walls of the tunnel as they pass them by; warm yellow light contrasting with the shadows of the car. "There's a reason as to why you're following along. You've seen it yourself; you don't need to be coy about it."

Kate squirms on the soft leather seat, and focuses on the staccato of the lines formed by the tiles on the walls, the rows blurred and flying past outside her window. She tries to hide the shaky breath that escapes her lips when his voice comes again, it almost sounds as if he's trying to relieve her.

"We find answers along the road. We want to understand," he says, and she can recognize the hesitation hidden behind his excitement over the subject. "At some point, it just proves to be overwhelming."

She wonders how they cope with it. She knows that while everyone seems to be in synch, they each have their own level of involvement. She could tell by their demeanor that Doggett and Reyes had different opinions when it came to William and how their plan is to develop.

How did they all decide to join in this cause? Is it about being gullible or is it about conviction? She wonders what the turning point was for each of them. What became proof enough for them to shift gears and become this nomad group of justice seekers?

William definitely has the upper hand when it comes to knowing what to get himself into. For the first time, she feels like she envies him and at the same time, she is also dampened with a sense of dread at the thought of possessing such faculties.

"He seems to be at ease with you guys. William-" she recognizes. "He's quite the Zen kid."

"He met us before," he says, chuckling, amused at her joke. "We've had plenty of close calls on the road." A grimace grows slowly on his face and he takes a deep breath as they exit the tunnel, the surroundings very familiar now. "Last night wasn't the first time that they've tracked us down."

"Were you at the diner?" she asks, curious. Were they watching as they examined the scene? Could they have missed them in the crowd?

"We were a couple of blocks away when it all happened." Another red light, cleaning crews sweep the streets of midtown Manhattan. "They were waiting for us. We arrived just in time to see your colleague clip one of them on the shoulder and make a colander out of the black Suburban that sped off."

"Why didn't you take William with you right then?"

"And risk being shot too?" He responds and she sees the point. They would have exposed themselves to Karpowski, making the situation even more complicated.

"How did you know that William was safe or hadn't been shot?" she questions his logic.

"We have Allyson to thank for that," he responds with a smirk. "Let's call her an 'in house' interpreter."

"How so?" They are stopped at another red light and she's starting to get antsy.

"She… she shares some of her faculties with William," Mulder explains, and this part of the information is surprising. But now it all makes sense, why the young woman came into the room with them; she was spying. "In Ally's case, her origins are far more traumatic."

A garbage truck blocks the street and she immediately tenses at the recollection of last night's ambush. But nothing happens this time; no dark van, and no commando operation jumping out at them.

"While William seems to have come _naturally_ to these _powers_ ," he continues as the traffic inches behind the truck, "Ally was engineered."

The scope of this conspiracy may go far beyond what Beckett could ever allow herself to imagine, and she fears she's getting lost in all the details that she should be storing away for later use.

"When I met her, she had been bouncing from one foster home to another, which was ironically a good thing," Mulder tells her as he checks his watch. "She escaped their grip after her assigned guardian got them into a head-on collision in the middle of the desert by the Nevada-California state line. The woman was pronounced at the scene, Ally got picked up by the emergency crews. She got buried in the confines of the mess that is the social services system and slipped through the cracks… She wandered many roads in search for her own truth. She even joined a cult."

Then the gears click in Kate's head. Allyson was part of the group they're escaping. That's how they know so much from that side.

"She's your in."

"In many ways," he says with a sigh.

The lights on the dashboard of the car dance as an incoming call shows on the screen. There's no number on the caller ID. He lets it ring twice before picking up.

"Took you long enough," Mulder says with an exaggerated scoff.

"The sun isn't even up," a grumpy male voice responds. "Some of us, old folks in retirement, find it unnecessary to wake up this early these days."

Beckett stores that nugget of information; the man on the other end might be older, maybe in retirement from a law enforcement agency. Maybe he's FBI as well.

"How's _Mother_?" the man asks.

" _Mother_ needs to see you!" Mulder responds with a funny tone, they're obviously talking in code. He turns north on 5th and Beckett registers the change in the route she had anticipated. "She planned a shopping trip to New York, and she needs your help carrying the bags."

"I thought she'd forgotten about those pleasures," the man responds, following along.

"She did. This is an impromptu thing." Mulder finally reacts to Beckett's stare, nodding at her, reassuringly. "Can you meet us in a few hours? I'll convince her to get you something pretty… Maybe a nice pair of diamond cufflinks from Tiffany's."

"She better add something else to this deal," the man responds mid laugh. "See you at eight."

"Make that seven," Mulder suggests.

"I don't own a cherry anymore."

So she's right then. He was law enforcement at some point.

"I'm sure you can make it happen. Stop driving like an old Chinese lady." There's a dry laugh and a muttered cuss on the other end.

"Sure, sure."

The line goes dead. Mulder better have a great explanation for this change of plans, she thinks.

"Who was that?" Beckett asks, curious and nervous at the exchange. "Who is _mother_?"

"No one. All of us." Mulder says, turning into the covered garage to his right.

"Where are we going?" Beckett asks as the sedan makes its way through the building.

"We need to switch cars," he states calmly.

"Why?" she questions. This was never laid out and the new details are making her nervous.

"Because… I don't what to risk anything."

They climb to the third level of the garage and slow down at a row of parked midsized sedans. "If I parade around in this one, I'm exposing one of our assets. Plus everything has a purpose."

"So what's your plan?" Kate asks as they pull in next to a cheap Kia rental car. "Hop into a _zipcar_ and drive away?"

"What do you take me for? What kind of FBI agent would drive a _zipcar_?" Mulder responds, climbing out of the Audi. She lets out a frustrated sigh; she's not okay with not knowing every detail, but he's got a point. They must avoid being followed at all costs. He startles her when he opens her door and ushers her out of the car.

"Follow me."

They walk down to the corner and into a stairwell. As they climb up, the flickering lights of the space paint an eerie scenario; her heart thumps hard as she follows the man in front of her up the lonely stairs. He opens the door to the fifth level and lets her exit first.

The level is empty, for the exception of a black 2012 Porshe Panamera.

They approach the luxury car and she shakes her head. "And this is more bureau fleet?"

"I'd like to think of myself of a higher rank stiff. Ally would never let me drive anything short of sexy." He winks at her while he pops the trunk and drops his case, opening another and dialing up a code that sets off a response in the car. "Plus they were fresh out of a purple 1998 Ford Taurus."

She's sure that was meant to be a joke, but her lack of response only provokes an eye roll from Mulder. He signals her to get in the car.

"You certainly have a lot of fallback plans," she says as she buckles her seat belt.

"It's a necessity." The car roars to life and Beckett can tell that he's enjoying the feel of it. "What do you say we go get us some coffee? I could go for dark roast right about now."

"Are you kidding me?" She's tired and yes, she could go for a coffee, but she's had it. "The plan was to go straight to my precinct."

"Fine, be that way," he pulls out of the parking space and onto the ramp.

"Look, I appreciate you trying to be casual but I don't get the whole vibe you're giving me of, ' _It's all cool'_. Nothing is cool!" He smiles at her sudden outburst. "I thought you were in a rush to get this done. I certainly don't feel like wasting any more time -"she continues, trying to keep her annoyance in check but failing miserably.

"We need to make this believable," Mulder cuts her off. "If we go back right away they'll assume that wherever it is that I rescued you from is close. We don't want them to assume that."

They exit the parking structure and head to the Upper East Side.

"He won't be long, and I know of a great Turkish nook just on the edge of East Harlem. Good coffee."

It's not like she has a choice; she has no weapon to point at him, no cellphone. She lets out a frustrated sigh; she's sure she sounds like an obstinate child.

"For now, we wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OG A/N:  
> I want to thank like [-THIS MUCH-] to KyinHI. She was sick and still took the time to beta this chapter. If you are still at a loss of what a ZipCar is, google it, is a cheap and very automated way to rent a car through the city, they're parked everywhere, but definitely not your stylish option!
> 
> Other acknowledgements, to everyone that has reviewed, favorited, nudged and hit me up through Facebook, Tumblr and Twitter, thanks so much! I'll respond reviews again starting this chapter, I just lost count of who I had responded already!
> 
> PRETTY PLEASE, Leave a REVIEW!


	10. Chapter 10

Castle doesn't know what to do with himself now that Beckett has left. He doesn't have a task or an objective right now, other than to wait. It's not like doing nothing is unfamiliar to him, but even then, he's always doing _something_. Many people may think that he's just wasting away the time while he sits patiently next to Beckett as she fills out paperwork, or waits for a drop; the truth is that these are the times he's doing the most.

He's learned everything, the good and the bad about Katherine Houghton Beckett, while resting his elbow on her desk or making chains out of paper clips. Right now, he's apart from her, because this is what they need to do, in order to be together again. He'll let the time pass if by being patient, they'll live to see another day.

Monica had followed Scully inside William's room the minute that Beckett and Mulder left. He's sure they want to regroup. He should be nervous, but in reality, he's just frustrated.

Ally has been sitting across from him all this time, concentrating on her portable video game. He's been tempted to ask her, even thought to bribe her, to share it; anything he could do to distract his mind from the fact that he feels like he could bounce off the walls out of his growing anxiety. Pen and paper, that would help, he thinks.

The man, Doggett, leans against the far wall, snoring softly. He's sure that they have bunk beds far more comfortable than the chair he's awkwardly sitting on, but he also suspects the man's trying his best to keep an eye on him… He's failing miserably.

Castle's leaning on his elbows on the tabletop, hands resting on each side of his face, absentmindedly massaging his scalp and threading his fingers through his hair. He berates himself for doing so; it won't be long before it starts feeling grimy. The stubble on his face though, he won't be able to stop that. He runs a hand down his cheek and instantly wishes it was Kate's, her touch far softer and luxurious than his own calloused hand.

The image of her floods his senses; sitting on the bathroom counter two days ago, her smooth legs bracketing his hips. She had insisted on helping him shave, nothing new, but it had been such a welcome change of pace. Usually, she would be the one rushing him, but lately she seemed to squeeze in every ounce of intimacy she could. He was not about to start complaining; especially when they had to watch their backs so fiercely at the office.

A sudden sense of dread starts to creep in when he realizes that this situation is so far out of his control. He cannot help but to feel powerless, regardless of the fact that he assured her that he'd be here to look after William. The truth is that, while he's indeed there to oversee that the boy is safe, he's also pretty convinced that they don't mean him any harm.

They'd probably kill him before they let anyone hurt William. And isn't that why they're here, in this situation?

"Can't sleep?" Monica's voice brings him out of his head.

The woman takes a seat in front of him; he must have been deep in thought because Ally is no longer in the room and he didn't even notice her leave. A guard change, he thinks.

"Well, you've confiscated my iPhone… and I usually play a round of Angry Birds before dozing off," he explains to the woman, who nods in understanding. "That… or I make phone calls."

She gives him a soft smile and tilts her head, eyes bright in mirth.

"To her?" she says, suppressing a happy sigh.

He nods, embarrassed. He wonders if it reads all over his face how much in love he is. He's no poker player when it comes to Kate Beckett. His feelings for her have made him stronger but at the same time, those emotions engulf him, making it very hard to hide that she's also his biggest weakness. She plowed through all his defenses, and without her, he stands naked. He might have torn down walls, but so did she. He's had to learn to embrace this new state of being, where he's no longer the careless Casanova with a smug force field, but a man that is bent up on making the woman of his life proud of the man beside her.

"I think it's cute," she comments, sounding somewhat reassuring. The woman seems like a mix of motherly and innocence… if that's even a logical combination. She's calm but alert.

"It's the only chance we get to have normal _couple_ conversations," he explains to her, no sense in being secretive about it, they've already seen a lot. "Without prying eyes or ears, that is."

"No one knows?" she asks.

"Some do. Our closest friends," Castle clarifies, and his thoughts go immediately to the circumstances that made them aware of their relationship. He still owes Ryan quite a few rides in his Ferrari for not going overboard with the bragging rights of being the one to figure it out first.

"Her boss doesn't know. Or so we believe." He still wonders if the woman is completely in the dark about their relationship. "Though that would speak badly about Capitan Gates' detection skills. There've been some close calls, though."

"Gotcha." Monica nods, winking at him. "We used to work in a basement. No one cared to visit. It was a nice deal."

Her face blushes just slightly as she throws a look toward her sleeping husband. Castle's mind races at the one hundred and one scenarios that run through his head; of these two former FBI agents, sneaking around. He instantly wonders if he could convince Kate to do a thorough examination of the evidence locker. Focus, Castle, he repeats to himself. Do you job, find the story.

"So, I have a brief idea of how Mulder and Scully got into this business," Castle begins, prodding into the woman's past, taking advantage of her admission. "But what about you guys? Care to share?"

"I guess that if we're going full disclosure already, yeah, why not?" Reyes says candidly while getting up from her seat. "Freshen up that cup for you?"

Castle looks at his plastic coffee cup, the potion now cold and bitter.

"Sure," he says, accepting her offer.

Monica starts the Keurig coffee maker, setting up the pods for a Starbucks dark roast. The pour of the coffee comes fast, the welcoming aroma filling the stark space as she hands him back his cup while she waits for hers.

"I met John before I ever met Mulder and Scully. Summer of '93," she says, while handing him the small portable containers of cream and sugar, compact and slim, in total accordance with the rest of the gear that they have set out. "His son was abducted while he was riding his bike around his neighborhood. Luke was seven at the time. The reasoning behind it all is still not entirely clear; a tangle of pedophilia, the mob and corrupt FBI agents."

This part of the story takes him by surprise, but then it begins to makes sense. The man is weathered, the passage of time and circumstance evident in his stance, in his skin. She retrieves her coffee cup and returns to her seat. The chair groans a metal complaint as she leans on its back legs, propping her feet on the table.

"I was going on my first year out of Quantico when I got transferred to the New York field office and was assigned as the lead investigator on his case." She takes a sip of her coffee, taking a pause in her story. "Three days; it was a hellish search. Trying to not give up, turning every stone."

"John was an NYPD detective at the time, with the Fugitive Enforcement Division." Monica looks at her husband again, eyes soft and caring. "He knew what we were up against. He knew what the looks on our faces meant. I witnessed how the hope dissolved as the clock ticked away and the suspect list got thin. And then we found him… In a barren, frozen field."

A shaky sigh tumbles past her lips and she focuses back into the murkiness of the hot beverage in front of her. Castle cannot help the sickening feeling that settles in his stomach as he imagines the crime scene in his head.

They have encountered grisly murderers, they've seen much of the worst that New York can put out on the blood spill, he has combined all of these scenarios to come up with chilling narratives for his books… but luckily, they've never had to encounter a fatal child crime. Beckett has, and he can recognize the same expression on Reyes' features. It's a level of understanding that he hopes he never gets to experience.

"I requested reassignment to the New Orleans field office shortly after that. I couldn't stand New York, and my _sensitivities_ were better appreciated down south." Monica continues, clearing her throat in what Castle is sure is an attempt to regain some sobriety. "We kept in touch and he tried hard to get his life back together, but his marriage ended shortly after that."

"Did he continue at the NYPD?" he asks, taking a sip of his coffee, coaxing her to continue along the timeline.

"He eventually joined the Bureau," she explains. "He busied himself in the cases, I guess we both did. The job became our lives. We saw each other a couple of times on the road, a few beers on random nights."

The setup is so familiar, another version of Beckett's life splattered over other people's traumas. He's always been aware of it, but he doubts that people ever stop to think about the real cost of searching for the truth. While justice seekers are out there trying to make things right, they unwittingly carry with them the leftovers of every battle; there's never a blank slate, and even if healed, the scars are deep when the wounds are personal.

"We never worked together again," Monica continues, the impetus of the story winding down to a revealing tone. "Not until he got assigned to lead a manhunt… a manhunt for Fox Mulder."

* * *

Walter Skinner hates the city, more than he cares to admit, but ever since he quit the FBI and took on consultant jobs, it made sense to be adjacent to it. The world is a very different place now; people had focused on the post 9/11 era, but over ten years later, security firms and politics were definitely aiming towards a different north.

It wasn't about patriotism anymore.

Skinner parked on a side street by the market that Mulder and him had met a couple of times before. The first had been right after he had resigned from the FBI, the second right before Mulder left for Africa in search of answers.

He had reluctantly agreed to let him go by himself, again. He still has trouble forgiving himself, even after all these years. In his mind, he's still responsible for allowing them to kidnap Mulder while under his watch.

He can still see himself so vividly, as he searched the woods frantically and then heard the loud boom of the aircraft taking off. He had been there to protect him, to prevent this from happening and he had failed; he had failed Mulder, himself, and he had failed Scully. It's a childish feeling, he knows it; there was probably nothing he could have done to stop them from abducting Mulder that evening.

The event though made him face the ultimate proof that everything that Mulder and Scully had sworn to him existed, was indeed real. Now Mulder comes to him again, dangers probably knocking at his door. But now it's different. This man is no longer just his coworker, or a dear friend… He's family now.

He walks towards the café in the back of the store; older women pick from the assortment of spices and exotic fruits that populate the makeshift shelves and wicker baskets. Skinner follows the couple of steps that lead to the service area, the smell of strong coffee overloading his senses.

It is just like he remembers it; a red hue floods every surface, dark wood trimmings and stainless steel chairs, awash in murky light. The surfaces lack luster, years of use showing in the deep scratches and faded spots on the counter. The morning traffic of customers rushing through the locale, minding their own business; completely unaware of who they are witness to, not even a clue of the battles that they've fought.

"Good to know you can still floor it," he hears Mulder say as he approaches the darker area in the back.

He turns in the direction of the voice, his eyes still adjusting to the change of contrast between the halogen lights of the market and the barely there light of the back café.

With the smoothing qualities of the shadows, he can almost picture the young man that used to storm out of his office in frustration, or slouch in his chair as he mocked the authority of his position over and over again. He's dressed just as if they had never left the hallways of the Hoover building, suit and tie, a professional demeanor, just like him. Skinner regards him with a side nod of the head, but Mulder pulls him into an enthusiastic hug that surprises him.

"Come on, you can't greet your son in law in that half assed way," Mulder says, giving him an energetic slap on the back and patting his bald head.

"Stop that, you know how I hate how touchy feely you've become." Mulder snickers at the man's awkwardness.

"Okay," Mulder says sobering up. "Let me introduce you."

They walk towards a table in the far end of the crammed hall; a woman sits uneasy, her eyes following their movements.

"Walter, this is Detective Katherine Beckett, NYPD." The attractive woman regards him from her seat, the lamps highlighting a mane of hair that points more to some glamour commercial than to being a cop, he thinks.

"How do you do?" He's surprised by her firm handshake, the power behind it, confidence.

"That's a good question," she says, and he can't pin point if she's being passive aggressive or just honest.

Both men take a seat around the table, checking their backs and settling into the conversation, their bodies hunched over and protective.

"So what kind of mess have you gotten yourselves into now?" Skinner begins.

Mulder trades a look with Beckett, and Skinner is already bracing for impact.

"It's bad, pretty bad," Mulder states, running a hand through his hair and stifling a sigh. "But it's good. We have him. We're almost there. We just ran into some unexpected… events."

Skinner can read it in his eyes; he should have known when he saw his clothes, when he read his message. They're going back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the people that keep reading, tell a friend, bother a family member to read it, I promise to keep it interesting, lots of goodies to come!
> 
> Ky, you are the sunshine of my life in these rough times. Tiff, Joss, Becks and Co. Why can't I have you all in the same room?
> 
> PLEASE... Leave me a review, a shout out, what you liked, what you hated even what you'd love to see happen here. I'm having too much fun writing this.


	11. Chapter 11

"Wait. They were after Mulder? I thought he led that… division," Castle asks, incredulous.

She knew that the revelation would shake him. It had shaken her too; especially when she learned everything that he had been through. It shook her with a bout of anger that she had to learn to contain for the sake of diplomacy, until she didn't have to hold herself back anymore. Not that it made any difference.

"He did… only that for a period of time, he… disappeared." Monica continues to explain. "You see, Mulder is a guy that you could say has risen from the dead? Gone to hell and back…?"

She is enjoying the writer's baffled face, appreciating his candor when it comes to sympathizing with their struggle. Or at least, she'd like to think he does.

She takes a breath and watches him, tries to figure him out as he processes the boldness of what she has already said. Is he really up for this? Is he ready to take in what feels like a lifetime of torture?

"I believe that if I were to actually tell you the details, I'd have to ask you first how open minded you are," she says, trying to read his level of tolerance to what other people would so easily dismiss.

"I think I'm pretty lax with my limitations when it comes to exploring different possibilities," Castle responds, a hint of smugness to his words and something else. Is it his patience running thin?

"I doubt you've seen this kind of different." She's sure this man's imagination is fertile, but it's different when you're being told that this is a reality and not some made up story.

"Then again, here you are, talking to me, while you hold me hostage because we ran into a kid that can read minds…" He lets out a soft snort and she can't help but appreciate the amused bitterness of his statement. "And, oh yeah, he draws magical maps; among other things."

"You got a point," Monica concedes. She struggles to regain her composure when a riff of nervous laughter threatens to arise. The topic is not necessarily a funny one, even if Mulder likes to throw a joke in here and there about his encounters with the daunting experiments.

"He got himself abducted... by _them_ ," Monica states as she points upwards and continues with her story. Her brown eyes zero in on the writer's blues. "He was gone for months. John was called out right away to lead the group, but as it happened, he ended up getting himself assigned to the X-Files."

She remembers the day that John emailed her about it. A cryptic couple of lines that almost made her spit out her coffee. John Doggett was working with the unknown; she would have paid good money to witness every waking minute of it. Eventually, she didn't have to. Months later, she herself had become a part of the X-Files and she's certain that her own struggles were soon the source of entertainment around the water cooler. No need to get ahead of herself though.

"There were other cases to look at; surprising cases, the unknown, the paranormal, and then all of the daunting horrors that mankind can achieve on his own."

Castle seems genuinely interested in the narration and she's enjoying this, telling the story to someone that apparently holds no judgment. "Mulder's abduction was Scully's only interest though. She was pregnant with William at the time; everyone could feel the weight of how important it was to find him."

"Was it known that…?" Castle probes and she interrupts him, the upcoming question totally predictable.

"That the baby was his?" She completes. "They were probably the oldest running bet at the Hoover. Well, you know, besides how many dresses J. Edgar held in his closet."

Castle snorts at that, and Monica makes a mental note of it. They share some of the same sense of humor. She has to admit it though; some of that bitter tone actually comes from John. Maybe after so many years together, people really do become one person.

"After a few months of zero leads, other abductees started to turn up." She continues and she can feel the nerves in her stomach start to coil at the memories. "Some of them reappeared in abandoned fields, showing horrific signs of abuse. That's when John called me in. This is my area of expertise; ritualistic crimes."

She cannot forget the night; a stark field, and the potent light sinking over the hill. Then there it was; an unfortunate discarding of the sick experimentations that these beings were holding, disposed of all around them. In the shadows, hiding in plain sight, an unknown threat capable of bringing them to their knees.

She had smoked an entire pack of Morleys after she had dialed 911 and told Doggett to rush over. Hell, she's pretty sure that he himself had wanted to smoke one after she'd told him what she had seen.

"There was a group led by a man named Jeremiah Smith," Reyes remembers. She can picture the serene features of the man in her head; his white hair and quiet demeanor making her uneasy, as if he was invading her defenses. "He was what you would call a healer leader, and he had a big following. Some of these people revered him because of his 'powers'… others because he was a tool for them to sustain a growing cult."

The compound was highly populated, she continues to remember. The darkness of the buildings and the crammed quarters of the dozens of followers of the cult had sent a chill through her veins. They all had that look to them; people in a desperate search for some understanding as to how confusing their world had become. Trying to find it in that cult might have been the worst decision ever.

"The abductees would be dropped off," Monica explains. "And Jeremiah would… heal them."

She had expected at least a double take from him, but what she got was a nod of understanding.

"Like William?" he asks, but it's more a full on statement.

She assumes that the woman detective has let him know about William's gifts and his effect on her, and her mind imagines the moment. It was probably intimate, or maybe funny; probably nowhere near as easy as this conversation.

She'll give it to him; he is very easy to talk to. Or maybe she just needed a moment apart from the group to be able to gather a new perspective. At any rate, explaining their story to a fresh and open-minded set of ears is comforting in a way she didn't even know she had needed.

"I guess you could say that he wields some version of those powers," Monica says.

"I'm sure that Mulder already introduced you to the goal of this faction," Monica says. "They believe that these _Visitors_ are meant to take over, that they're here for the greater good, to make things right."

"So you thought that Mulder had joined them? Just gone off the reservation?" Castle asks.

"I was proven wrong fast enough," Monica replies. "I wanted to keep my options open and even argued with Scully about it, but in reality, I was ready to laugh it off when they started to mention ET."

Castle raises a brow but says nothing.

"You eventually get used to the fact that they exist."

"I bet story time had to be pretty outrageous once he got back," Castle says, probing for more information.

"You could say that," she says. "I was mistaken; he wasn't part of any group and he wasn't out there preaching the crazy word… he had been taken, indeed, and then he was returned, dead."

* * *

The older man sits on the metal chair; his posture speaks of tiredness, elbows braced on his knees, while he cradles a weathered ceramic cup between his hands.

There's a moment of silence between them and she can feel the fatigue start to pull at her muscles. She's struggling to stay awake, the down time is not helping and this coffee… is not her coffee. Castle didn't make it for her, he didn't hand it to her with a demure caress to her fingers and a loving smile. She takes a deep breath; this is not the time to let these needs surface.

It's silly, how attached she is to him, but she knows she can do this on her own. She has to be strong, for them, she has to be strong.

"I trust that you've handled all the clearances we need," Skinner asks Mulder, while taking in a slow mouthful of the steamy beverage.

"You know Ally always has us covered," Mulder replies. "She says "hi" by the way."

The bald man grins and nods in reply. There's mirth in his eyes; the way that everyone reacts to the mention of the young woman makes her wonder how special she must be. She knows just by observation that she's strong, smart and fearless. The fact that she wields powers just adds another level to the mix.

Kate realizes then that she may not have the chance to discover the other layers, the many details behind this group of renegades. She instantly feels as if she's missing a chance, and then realizes that this was not the situation before coming into Castle's world.

Before, people came in and out of her life and she was satisfied with however little or however much she learned of their lives; she was content with being a brief visitor in their hardest times, whether they were criminals or victims.

But now, she's been exposed to him. As the intimacy has grown between them, it has allowed her to discover new sides to his process. She often finds herself surprised by random pieces of paper that comprise new ideas or details he doesn't want to forget for the next _Nikki_. Like phrases she's used in the interrogation room, or Esposito's new fad, even Ryan's endearing observations of his married life. She loves it when she finds a bit based on Gates, it always gets a snicker out of her.

She's come to terms with the fact that some of her life is being told, preserved for others to see through Castle's eyes. Though, having received a crash course on Mulder's "adventures", isn't their story far worthier?

It would surely make a Sci-Fi writer rich someday.

"We had a really close call last night," Mulder says, becoming serious.

"The faction?" Skinner asks.

"Yeah," Mulder says. "The Van de Kamps are gone."

The older man's brows rise, worry lines creasing his forehead. Kate wonders how much she still has to learn about this _Faction_ and if she shouldn't fear that they're in over their heads.

"What about William?" Skinner asks in a deadly serious tone, his body tensing.

"He's OK. We have him," Mulder says, laying a calming hand on Skinner's forearm from across the table. It's obvious to Kate that these two are close despite the slightly snarky tone that they use with each other. Still, she's beginning to feel like the third wheel as these two talk in low voices and all but ignore her and her impatience is brewing high. "Detective Beckett here was the one to answer from the NYPD… she was kind enough to… help us out."

"Let's cut the crap, shall we?" Beckett interrupts, finding her opportunity. "I don't feel like socializing while my partner is being held by your people."

"I see that this is not a voluntary collaboration," Skinner intones. "Lay it out, Mulder."

"We've agreed to… help each other out," Mulder replies. "In fact, I believe that Beckett improved my original plan."

"Well, that's not hard to do. So… come out with it," Skinner says in a clipped tone.

Huh, Kate thinks as Mulder flinches at the older man's short words; it seems this might be the one person who can control Mulder. She's beginning to like this Skinner guy.

"We have a great opportunity right now, Walter." Mulder continues. "They were careless. They killed civilians in plain sight to get to William, and now the NYPD is after them for murder and kidnapping."

"But you have William…" Skinner says.

"Yes, but they don't know that," Mulder replies, his expression revealing part of the ruse.

"So you're going to put it all on them," Skinner says. "And you've agreed to this? Am I correct?" he says, finally acknowledging her presence as Skinner's eyes examine her.

"Yes." Beckett replies, standing her ground when his eyes test her resolve.

"Why?" He asks and she can feel the FBI interrogation skills infused in his tone.

She takes a moment; this man won't intimidate her.

"I'm a homicide detective, not the doomsday police." Kate shrugs, crossing her arms smugly. In reality, she's protecting herself.

Skinner nods at her, and it almost feels like a battle of wills. He might have a firm grasp on Mulder but she'll be damned if he thinks that he can overpower her as well.

"I see that you've brought her up to speed." Skinner says, eyeing Mulder.

"You know how I love to tell a good story," Mulder says in a droll voice.

"Look, I need to do my job, and you to do yours." Beckett interrupts. "I've already made my peace with your _conditions_ , let's try to make this as painless as possible. There's no need to extend my compromised situation any longer than necessary."

"Why am I part of this plan?" Skinner asks.

"We need to go into my precinct to recover the drawings. My team took them as evidence." Beckett replies.

"And you can't get anywhere without them…" Skinner nods, catching on. He leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath this time. "Are we taking over?" His voice is just above a whisper.

"We'll try, whatever feels less threatening." Mulder says.

"My partners will trust me, but my Captain might be the wild card." Beckett says. "We're going to have to play it by ear."

"What's the time frame?" Skinner asks. "How are we setting them up?"

"Ally will cross over this afternoon. Depending on that, I'm expecting it to blow over by tonight." Mulder says.

"The faster we do this, the less space that we give for other people to question any part of this plan... the less time we give for any other parties to get involved."

Mulder is right and Kate's gut churns at the implications. This is really happening; the time is now.

She's been fearing the extent of knowledge that her team might possess by now; they're not dumb and she fears that she might have to shift too many gears once they arrive at the 12th. She hates lying to them, but she cannot bring them into this mess as well. She needs to protect them, they're her family. This is why they need to act fast; she can't give them too much room to probe, not into them, not into the _others_.

"We'll take the lead and plow through." Mulder continues, "This is the best opportunity that we've had in a while to clear the board; at least a good portion of it."

"It's already eight AM," Beckett says, getting more anxious by the minute. "We're good according to our timeline. For now." She gives Mulder and Skinner a pointed glare.

"I guess I'm taking that second coffee to go." Skinner grins, but it's a bitter grin, and she instantly feels that this plan is going against the man's better judgment.

Against everyone's better judgment.

* * *

Ryan squeezes the bridge of his nose in frustration. His eyes are burning from focusing on hours of video playing on three different monitors. The lines and shapes started to blur about forty minutes ago.

He grabs onto the paper bag on the corner of the table on his way out of the room. Jenny had stopped by before heading to work; she had left him a scrambled egg sandwich and a pale blue folded note.

_Hang in there, babe. 3_

He smiles at her handwriting. He takes a bite; the food isn't hot anymore, but he needs the energy, he's fading fast.

"Anything?" Gates asks, the voice startling him out of his daze.

"Nothing, Sir," Ryan says, setting the food down on his desk and running a hand through his hair. They both stand, observing the activity around them and he cannot help but throw a worried look to his team. "Not a phone call, not a clue."

Esposito and he have been exhausting every lead, searching every corner, but to no avail. It's too tough when it's one of them on the line; as much as they try to separate their feelings from the situation, treat this case and victim like one more on the assembly line, there's no rehearsed self-preservation strategy strong enough to avoid the added levels of stress.

Everyone in the precinct can feel the pressure; JT and Hastings stayed through the night, and led the canvas around the area they'd found Beckett's cruiser. He feels thankful for their help, he does, but as Hastings fills the murder board with details that Esposito has retrieved, seeing the blonde in place of Beckett is off-putting.

"We don't even know where to look anymore…" Esposito cuts in.

"What's the word on the traffic cams?" Gates asks.

"They caught the van on a couple of corners heading south, but after First Street we got nothing. We need more time to cover a bigger radius." Ryan responds.

"Did the foot work turn up with anything?" The woman is frustrated but there's no good news to share.

"The sweep of the immediate area brought in nothing," Hastings interrupts. "There's no place to hide that we didn't canvas in the vicinity, but like Detective Ryan said, we need more time, Sir… more muscle."

"That's exactly the problem, Hastings," Captain Gates responds, clearly frustrated with the lack of progress. "We're missing two team members."

Hastings ducks her gaze for a moment, chagrined, but quickly recovers and fixes the captain with a steady glare. Ryan is impressed; not everyone can go one on one with Gates and he's happy that if he can't have Beckett and Castle on his side, he at least has this tenacious cop. Sometimes telling the truth hurts, but at least this woman has the gumption to tell it.

Officer Johnson strides up to the group then, a little out of breath and eager. "Sir, the Van De Kamps' next of kin, she just arrived." He points to a serious looking woman in polished _Stepford Wives_ do. This is not far from what he had expected but she certainly seems a lot more refined than the Van De Kamps had seemed.

Maybe this is the rich sister, he thinks.

"Ryan, continue the work on the cameras," Gates orders. "Javier, draw up a plan to incorporate officers from a couple more precincts. I'll put in a few calls, too."

"What about…" Hastings says, gesturing to the woman with crossed arms who waits at the edge of the bullpen.

"Give me a minute and I'll join you in the visitor's lounge," Gates says. "You've been pining for that promotion to detective, Officer Hastings, you just got a pop quiz."

The blonde woman nods in agreement and leaves, her step energized, trying to hide a smile. Ryan knows better than to think that Hastings is happy about the situation, he knows that this is a big break for her... But maybe this is one that shouldn't be happening at the moment, not with so much on the line.

"Are you sure about this, sir?" Ryan asks, hesitant. "I can talk to her…"

"It's fine. I need you to run point in what you're great at," she responds, dark eyes on his, but gentler than he had expected after questioning her orders; the reassurance having a calming effect on him, she understands.

They see Hastings usher the dark haired woman into the visitor's lounge; her walk seems a little too distinguished, too alpha dog.

Gates shares a look with him, she's seen it too.

"These people have quite a few secrets that we're yet to understand." Her voice is hushed and worried. "I doubt that we're going to get a straight answer from this woman if we're to be conventional. Hastings has some bite to her. Maybe she can get us out of the deadlock."

The Captain retreats to her office, and he cannot help but feel that they may be falling deeper into the rabbit hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, these are pouring out of me. I hope the trend continues, it certainly is helping me cope with stress!
> 
> Many big kisses to KyInHI. Hope that you're enjoying the turquoise macaroon.
> 
> To the rest of you, my wonderful and smart as hell readers, thanks so much for your messages and reviews. I can't ever get enough of them, so leave me one more in that box below!


	12. Chapter 12

"Wait, but…" Castle objects, confused.

"I know, I need to pace myself," the woman says, shaking her head and getting up from her seat. "More coffee?"

"Yes, please," he says, suddenly needing to be more awake for this kind of information, or asleep, because all of the sudden he feels trapped in a dream. Nothing like this happens in real life. He suddenly envies John, deep in slumber and sprawled in a chair. He wonders how these people ever catch a nap with knowledge like this.

"So…" Monica continues, expertly handling the coffee preparation; she's fast, the woman must down many of these a day judging by the precision of her movements. "Mulder was returned, but at the same time, Jeremiah was taken. There was nothing we could do without his faculties."

"Mulder was dead and buried," her tone is sober and hushed as she sits down, hunched over the table, her finger absently twisting the ring on her finger. "People tried to move on, I tried to make peace with what I had seen, or… well, not seen."

The expression on Reyes' face tells him how much she struggled with this time in her life. Her eyes dart between him and her husband, downcast; she takes a deep breath. Castle struggles with his own reactions as well; the story is getting to him. He's sitting on the edge of his chair, totally enraptured by the narration, and the raw emotion threaded through her voice.

"What we went through had changed us forever, regardless of how little John wanted to talk about it," her gaze rests on the man to their right as he snores softly; she loves him, he can see it in the way her features shift with every glance she takes of him.

Monica takes a sip of her coffee, her eyes coming back to Castle, her lips thinning to a straight line in a sign of frustration. "It was a given, it happened. Whatever reasoning we tried to give it didn't fit into the realm of our known reality."

After all he has heard so far, what exactly is reality? Castle feels his head beginning to spin.

"The situation had shaken everyone to the core. Fingers were pointed, regrets and what-ifs examined; especially for Walter Skinner."

Castle's eyebrows knit at the mention of the new name and Monica catches up to his confusion. "He was the Assistant Director assigned to the X-Files… and he also happened to be the man that witnessed Mulder's abduction."

"He had never forgiven himself for it; the outcome of it all weighed him down like a ton of lead bricks."

It dawns on Castle that there's so many people involved in this insane chain of events; so many people that become victims, so many people that escape guilt and then the others that take it upon themselves to carry it because that's the only way they know how to cope. They carry the responsibility, avoid moving on, avoid acceptance.

"Although the FBI tried to transfer John to another division, and Skinner tried to convince him, partly pressured by his superiors, he decided to remain on the X-Files."

Castle listens carefully. For some reason it feels as if this is something that makes her proud of her husband, but there's something else lingering underneath.

"The existence of the department was in jeopardy with Scully going on maternity leave soon and Mulder out of the picture… so he stayed."

"That was pretty noble of John," he comments.

"Yeah, you could say that," she admits, her smile warm and wide. "I think that, even though he would never confess it, he had reached an understanding and appreciation for Mulder and Scully's work for all those years; he understood their passion for the truth, for justice."

Castle wonders how the man, that seemed so straight-laced and stubborn, managed to open his mind to all of this.

"That, and he had a gigantic soft spot for Scully." Monica snickers while clarifying, and it clicks in Castle's head. John had a crush on Scully and with Mulder out of the picture… It was easy to guess what the man had in mind. "I guess we all revere her, to different degrees. She tried to convince him to leave while he could but I think that deep down she was thankful."

"Did you request a transfer then?" he asks, curious about the progression.

"No, not then. Though I wanted to."

Monica threads her fingers through her hair and settles back in her chair for another bout of explaining.

"I had heard about the work being done from my conversations with John and the hearsay throughout the bureau; many laughed and criticized the fact that money was being spent on these cases, others feared that there was an inkling of truth to discoveries, and then there were the ones that saw it as a threat. To experience it firsthand convinced me that I needed to be a part of it. I'm always a sucker for these kinds of endeavors, but it wasn't the right time."

"How does Mulder come back in the picture?" Castle asks, impatient.

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there," she laughs, hushed.

She's enjoying telling this story, he can tell.

"If I were writing this, I would have lost my readers by chapter two…" he says. There are so many details to follow that it could take a lifetime to get accustomed to it. "Too much to digest."

"Then maybe you're just lucky I can summarize because there's a lot more to this story that I'm skipping for the sake of your sanity." She laughs and breaks out an energy bar, giving him half of it.

"Three months later, just as Scully was about to start planning her leave, one of the abductees, Billy Miles, was found floating in the Atlantic," Monica says between bites, crumbs of granola falling onto her; she brushes them off absentmindedly. "He had been there for weeks, his body so decomposed that it was barely identifiable. Yet, he was alive."

The statement comes as the most natural thing in the world, as if she was just telling him the weather, nothing big, nothing transcendental, only that it is.

"How is that even possible?" he asks, his tone plagued with disbelief and disgust at the image; he wishes he could be better at hiding his reaction.

"Hey, I warned you that you need an open mind for this," Monica scolds, throwing him a look. "For the time being, just go with it. There's no easy or fast way to condense proof or fact."

"Skinner learned about this and immediately requested to have Mulder exhumed," she continues explaining and the image forms in his head faster than he can control his imagination. "John thought that Walter was going crazy; I got a call in the middle of the night as they were waiting for the casket to be opened. He was so frustrated with the whole situation…"

Castle can't help but side with John on this one. Even considering how open to "new possibilities" he was trying to be, people don't just come back from the dead. No matter how much he jokes about it.

"On the one hand, his logical self would not allow for this to be a possibility, on the other, he had already witnessed enough to know that he couldn't live with the doubt."

Castle hears Monica's reasoning, and he wonders if presented with the same choice he would have gone along with it.

"He wanted to protect Scully from false expectations; she had already gone through enough."

Would he make someone suffer through this just to satisfy his curiosity? These people had a better grasp onto shifting realities than he could ever have, even though he frequently immersed himself in other universes to write his books.

The difference was that he was a visitor of those worlds, the creator of them; he could leave whenever he wanted. These people had no such option.

"As incredible as it seemed, they opened the casket, and Mulder was there, back, like Houdini… Deadalive." Monica's eyes bury into his, connecting for a moment, saying with a look things that words could not describe.

For a split second he imagines himself in the same room with them, and there's no way to describe how this situation would have completely shattered his belief system. He tries, but he doesn't know how that feels. He wonders though, what would Beckett have done if they had encountered something like this? If he were the one in that casket, if he had been the one back from the dead, what kind of excuse would she have found to explain something this unbelievable?

"Scully's reaction to this…" Monica continues, her voice hitching in what he could only describe as excitement. "You've probably only seen half the strength she possesses."

Castle throws a look toward the closed door of the room where the red head had gone into hours ago, curious now of her take on this whole story.

"Until then, John and Scully had achieved an amicable relationship; notwithstanding the outlandish conditions they respected each other's opinions and limits," Monica explains, her tone filled with sympathy. "But as you can imagine, with these new developments, John's rational side could never trump Scully's fierce hope."

Castle listens to Reyes and he tries to understand. What if it had been Beckett in that box? Would he go against his rational self, against everyone's limitations, and challenge everything in the name of hope… of love? Would he fight for one more chance, even when everything seems surreal?

Castle's ponderings swim in his head as a moment of silence takes over their conversation. Letters become words, forming in his head as sentences that translate to his deepest emotions and he realizes that questioning himself is beyond ridiculous. He would. He would go to hell and back for Kate. And no one could stop him from it.

"John had been right about his hesitations. I guess it's one of those situations where while he was fighting his own limits, he still had to play the game," Monica continues as she gathers a few stray crumbs that have landed on the surface of the metal table. The tip of her index finger pushes them inward, making a neat pile, pure symbolism of the situation as she gathers her thoughts.

Castle stares at Monica, still deep into his own considerations. He's convinced of how far he would go, but how far would Beckett go for him… for them?

"I'm sorry, I feel like I've barreled you over with too many details," Monica says, apologetically.

"Are you kidding me? I live for moments like this. I take it back, you actually tell a great story," Castle says, snapping back to the present and clearing his throat. It is an overwhelming amount of information, but the weight doesn't come from length or details; it comes from the meaning of it.

"Oh but it's not a story, it's our life." John's raspy voice emerges from the side of the room and Castle turns to him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to —," Castle apologizes to the man that approaches the table, rubbing the sleep off his face.

"How long have you been awake?" Monica asks John as he sits beside her and grabs her coffee cup.

"Long enough to hear how you're trying to avoid calling me a stubborn ass," Doggett says, drinking from the cup and hiding a smirk from the woman. His eyes squint at her with confidence; much is not being voiced, but loads of things are being said.

"Hey, I hear good things about mules… donkeys…" she responds, raising an eyebrow and matching his smile.

"Stop that, woman," John says, setting down the drink and swinging his arm around Monica's shoulders, protective and even a little possessive.

The gesture doesn't feel like it's a warning to Castle, to stay away from this woman. It feels like a gesture of reassurance to her.

"There was a man, Absalom. He had been one of the followers of this cult that we apprehended when Mulder was returned," John says, taking over and continuing the story. "He had since then learned a great deal of details, making him walk away from his previous beliefs. They had been wrong."

The way that John continues the story tells Castle about the degree of acceptance that the man has of his new reality. He's not flashy about it, or even excited to be telling this story. It's simply part of his life now; with all of its consequences and repercussions, with every change, as earth shattering as they were, Doggett has taken it in stride.

"He warned me about Mulder's _renaissance_. We were facing an unknown threat, one that we couldn't have imagined at the time." Castle leans forward as the man explains the new details.

"The real plan of the aliens was to colonize, gradually spread a virus that would turn a portion of our population in a very sophisticated breed of super soldiers that would only answer to their calling."

The man's blue eyes fix on Castle's. The seriousness of his tone comes as a warning about the graveness of his statement. "We couldn't stop Billy Miles from turning, but a lucky accident prevented Mulder from following into the same fate."

"I bet Walter is still thanking the stars for that," Monica interjects, a small smile to her lips.

"What happened?" Castle asks.

"You see, the fact that Mulder was back ruffled feathers with the members of the old conspiracy groups within the government." Castle listens intently to John; his words come methodically, carefully.

"These men had worked with the aliens, making many deals," he continues. "One of them was the development of a vaccine that would cure whoever was infected with the alien virus. These were people that were definitely not to be trusted."

Castle cannot help but laugh at himself. He thought that Bracken was one of the greatest conspiracies he would ever encounter. He knows he could throw into the mix Sophia and 3XK, but compared to this, they pale in dimension and potential consequences.

"These conspirators saw an opportunity to gain the upper hand; they knew the importance of William, even before he was born," Monica adds, joining into the tale again. "None of us knew what this child would mean; we were being played a fool."

"One of these men, Alex Krycek, offered the vaccine to Skinner, but at a price," John says, tilting his head, his body language communicating a lot more than he is saying. _Read between the lines_ , it says, _guess how evil this man is._

"You have to understand, this was the one thing that would prevent Mulder from turning," Monica clarifies, and he senses how they're trying to connect the dots for him. "He knew that Skinner still agonized over not being able to save him when he was first abducted, so Krycek put it into his hands to decide. To save Fox Mulder he had to kill Scully's unborn child."

Monica finishes her statement, her elbows braced on the tabletop and hands clasped together, leaning forward; the gravity of the moment seeps out of her.

Castle can't fathom the cruelty of these people, the horrors that they were willing to subject others to for the sake of their objectives. He knew the world was built on different levels of belief systems, of different definitions of what's right and what's wrong, but life should always be a constant; especially a child's life.

And then he realizes… "But Skinner chose William over Mulder," he states, the pieces clicking together, fitting in a surprising way.

"Yeah," John confirms, shaking his head in amusement. "They never saw that one coming… that it would ultimately end up saving his life."

"How?" Castle asks, and he can feel himself straightening in his seat, taken in by every detail, every new turn.

"The more we kept him on life support, the faster the virus incubated," Scully explains, surprising them all with her presence. The woman approaches them, coming to stand under the harsh fluorescent light that bathes their group.

"When Skinner disconnected him, Mulder's temperature dropped." She places her hands on the table, supporting her weight as she continues her explanation, as if the memory pushes on her back and steals her air. "It stalled the advance of the virus, weakening it to a point I was able to treat it with retrovirals."

"So you saved him…?" Castle meets her eyes and Scully purses her lips as if trying to decide if she actually did.

The woman won't let her guard down with him, and he guesses that it is hard for her to admit it to him or take any credit for the fact that the man she loves is alive partly because of her. There's no ego to her in this sense; she takes no pride when after a moment she concedes, giving him a small, shy smile as she nods.

"After he was back, many key players of the conspiracy started to show their true colors… we didn't trust anyone." Scully clears her throat, sobering up the moment. "No one felt safe."

"What happened when Mulder came back to the FBI?" Castle asks and they all trade glances, letting him know that there's more to that story than what they want to talk about. "He did, didn't he?"

Doggett and Reyes lean back and Scully continues, taking charge of the explanation.

"For a while, he tried, but nothing made sense anymore. Not after everything that he had experienced. His priorities were different, his search was different… it was far greater than a pile of files of unresolved cases."

"It was all about William," Castle probes, finding confirmation in the woman's face.

"He is the biggest X-File, indeed..." Scully responds with a bittersweet smile. "The threats to our life became too great. To a point where there was no shame anymore, no hiding, and no fear of consequences."

She takes a step back and leans against the shelves behind Monica and John, her eyes downcast, examining her boots.

"The more we learned about their fascination with my child, the more we feared for our lives and his," she continues. There's pain behind those words, and for a minute he can see the terror in her eyes. She masks it well, but not well enough. He knows that kind of fear; the irrational, or in their case, well-founded anxiety of not being able to do enough to warrant that your child remains unharmed. "William wasn't even born and he was already being threatened... So we did the only thing we thought would stall them. Go off the radar."

"You escaped?" Castle asks and she nods.

"My delivery date was approaching; we feared that by staying together we would be a bigger target, so John came up with this idea…"

The man ducks his head, almost bashful, at Scully's words. She approaches the table, standing behind the couple before Castle. "His plan was to hide me in the most unsuspecting of places with the one person no one would search for; the one he trusted the most."

Monica and John trade glances, secretive smiles growing slowly on their lips; there's no lust or joke behind their eyes, just pure admiration as Castle observes their cheeks turn up to a slightly warmer tint. For a minute he can see a much more innocent version of this couple, one that calls to the most primal layer of emotion and its quite beautiful, he thinks. John and Monica's eyes traverse each other's features just briefly before glazing over and coming back to their own thoughts. He imagines that they're reliving the memories, each in their own point of view. Monica's expression falls slowly, as if she's fighting some kind of regret and Scully's hand squeezes her shoulder in reassurance.

"So that's when you come in." Castle's tone is light and he keeps a warm smile on his face. He knows that there's more to the sudden change of mood in the otherwise lively woman, but he will get to that eventually. There's no need to answer all of his questions right now.

"I told you it would take a while to get to my part of the story," Monica responds, her mood shifting, covering up the thoughts she has just let show.

"Did it work?" Castle asks, rushed, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Were you able to get away?"

"No," Scully responds, resolute. "Their tendrils reach far deeper than we had thought."

"But you're alive. What happened?"

Castle watches as Scully tries to find a way to respond to him, a pregnant pause growing between them as his curiosity peaks at its highest point.

"It took us years to figure it out, and I don't think we'll ever be sure, but I don't think that William turned out to be what they were expecting," she finally says.

She throws a glance at the closed door of the room that holds her son and lets a shaky breath escape her lips. Her face doesn't show disappointment, or confusion, but a mix of longing and something else he can't pinpoint.

"They thought they could take over, use him… but in reality, he's the biggest threat to them that they'll ever have."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: (OG from FFN)
> 
> So ok, I tried to write this faster, but when you're now making two movies at once, it kinda sucks every single minute you have... and then there's life and trying to not get deported but I won't bother you with that.
> 
> I hope you're enjoying it still. Next chapter is a whole lot of action and new discoveries for both fandoms, Castle's and XF's... no more exposition I promise, its just that I worry about the peeps that don't know about XF's storyline that much!
> 
> Please, review! I love when you do that! is the equivalent of a Nathan Fillion hug, and those are awesome!
> 
> And Ky... how about combining a passion fruit macaroon with a cup of Verona?


	13. Chapter 13

"I'm sorry we've made you wait. It's been a crazy morning here at the precinct." Officer Ann Hastings apologizes as she ushers the Van De Kamp's next of kin into the lounge. "Captain Gates will join us soon, but in the meantime we can fill out some paperwork, if you don't mind."

"Sure," the brunette nods along, nonchalant, adjusting her blazer.

The young officer has conducted interviews before, not _in the box,_ but she has talked to hundreds of perps; most of the time it's just another conversation, but then there's those heartbreaking moments when lives are changed, taking a 180 degree turn for the worst. She's craving the moment where she can do more to honor her father; he'd be so proud of her. She'd been about to enroll at a dental hygienist school when he passed away, but now she's far from that dull and normal life.

Hastings experiences a mixture of emotions that are not fully linked to the pressing situation at hand. She feels selfish in a way, but if her time at the 12th precinct has taught her anything, it's that sometimes you have to forget about being so apologetic about wanting to live your own life. You never know when it will be over and you might find your demise at the wrong end of a gun.

Reality is still just _that_ though, _reality_. On the one hand, two members of her precinct and a victim are missing. She has to bring her A-game, find a way, a clue into this potential life threat on people she cares about. And then, there is the fact that her performance on this case is crucial, they need more clues… and it could add up to be enough to earn herself a place on the team. She is ready and she needs to prove it to the implacable Captain Victoria Gates.

The woman before her tucks a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear and Hastings wonders about the story behind her.

"I understand; no need to apologize." Her voice is deep, womanly powerful, in a way that reminds her of some of those stubborn DAs that she's seen prance their way around the 4th floor from time to time; those that make Gates dig her heels in and suppress the acid she'd like to throw at them. "I find it reassuring that people place such urgency in the search for justice."

She's an educated woman; Hastings can tell.

The posture and appearance of her is so different than what she'd have expected from a farmer's family relative, but who is she to judge? She needs to make a choice, either to shed preconceived ideas of what this woman should be, or to find a clue within this oddity.

"Justice indeed is the most important part of it all," Ann responds, centering her attention back to the woman. She pulls the pen off the writing board on her lap, finding the sturdiness of its surface a useful thing to hold on, the weight of it a welcome feeling. She settles across from the woman sitting on the green faux leather armchair, donning her best sober expression. _Be a pro_ , she repeats like a mantra, this woman in front of her doesn't know that this interrogation could change their future.

"Can you state your full name?" _That sounds accusing, Ann. Tone it down_ , Hastings berates herself; _she isn't a suspect._ "I just need it for my records."

"Diana Topher," the woman provides, the name flowing through lips that settle into a forced smile.

"And… what's your exact relationship with the… deceased?" The question comes out awkwardly, but the women trade looks, a sympathetic smile and a flash of grief that crosses between them.

"It's okay." Diana says calmly by way of reassurance. "My husband was Jane's brother. He passed away. Heart attack."

"I'm sorry to hear that." And she really is. The woman in front of her is still young to go through such a thing, losing a husband, but then tragedies don't discriminate when it comes to their victims. She knows plenty of that, from personal experience.

She certainly didn't think that she'd find herself at twenty-two burying her father when he had just turned fifty-seven; she didn't think that he would die from a senseless crime. Back then; she never knew that she would vow her life to fight crime, looking to fill the void that her father had left behind.

"It's been almost a year," the woman says; her shoulders shrug ever so briefly and her head tilts. "You eventually move on."

"Are you local?" Every little piece of information might seem useless to others, especially if you consider that this person shouldn't even be on the list of suspects, but clues hide in the oddest of places. More importantly, she still can't place why this woman doesn't fit into the strange puzzle that this case has settled into being.

"Yeah."

"Were they coming to visit you?"

"Yes. We hadn't seen each other in a while." For a moment Ann thinks that her response is a little too eager. "We lived in Ohio for most of our lives, and made the trip to their farm during the holidays."

"When Spencer died, I took a job at one of the firms in the financial district." Diana continues, her posture rigid, and Ann can't pin point if it is because she doesn't feel comfortable sharing her grief or if she's just nervous. "I needed a complete change. Our families though are too small, and so I remained their next of kin. I miss it sometimes, it's a great land, you know?"

Diana smiles, and her hands join in her lap. They're weathered, not from work but from age, the skin thin, wrinkled; her veins crossing very perceptible paths under the surface.

Another shrug of her shoulders, and while Ann thinks she had seen the grief before, she doesn't believe in it anymore. Call it a _sixth sense_ , call it a gut feeling, but there is something missing from the woman's eyes.

"I can imagine; my family is from Buffalo." She comments, trying to ease the woman into believing that she didn't pick up on her muted nervousness or that something is bothering her.

The picture that appears in Ann's head is a combination of her own memories as a child, before they moved into the city, before her parents divorced and she picked to live in the city where everything would be more exciting.

Her mother didn't really care; she went on with her life and with her new family. It was clear from the moment they arrived in Brooklyn that her true family had reduced to just her father and she. When he had died, aside from the overwhelming thirst for justice that she needed to quench, there was also that looming sense of loneliness that settled in… until she found the one person that could understand her mission in life.

Ann begins questioning if maybe it is that she couldn't help but place herself in the woman's shoes, and that they don't fit. Losing a partner hits her sensitivities, yes. Not because she has experienced that particular feeling, but because she couldn't imagine herself without Paul. He had been her savior many times, and their lives have transformed for the better, and she's amazed by it.

The death of this woman's husband is recent; it wasn't brought on by a long illness for her to prepare for his absence, yet, the grief isn't palpable as she knows most people wear it.

"When was the last time you saw them?" Anne asks, trying to propel the interview forward, time being precious as it is.

"I would say a couple of months ago? We skyped over Jane's Birthday; I couldn't make it for Thanksgiving." Her response seems genuine; there are no signs of hesitation, her body language is controlled and natural. Check, check, and check. "It's funny that now we think that a video call is actually spending time with your family."

_If she can recite this response so easily_ , Ann thinks, _would it be that she's willed herself in check, or is this what actually happened? Why am I suspecting her?_

"It's an advantage these days," Ann responds. "Do you know if they were pressed in any way? Debt? Any problem with neighbors, business partners?"

"Not that I know of," Diana says. "But I do know that a while ago Spencer mentioned that Jane had been part of a very strict religion. He used to say they sounded very much like a cult. So… maybe?"

"You should know that while we're the homicide department, we have plenty of experience dealing with kidnappings," Ann comments, trying to convey that they aren't giving up on a happy outcome to this situation. "In fact, Detective Beckett, the detective William is with, is one our best negotiators."

"I can't believe anyone would want to hurt them, they're such a lovely family." The older woman's eyes dart up, and a sigh escapes her lips. "I can't help but think how scared William must be."

"Do you have any kids of your own?"

"No, but I guess I do now." Diana's lips scrunch and her shoulders tense.

"Do you want to file for William's custody?"

"It was already arranged," she informs her, and Ann cannot help the pang in her gut, the sensation that's been bothering her growing stronger. "Before my husband died we were named his guardians if anything were to happen to George and Jane."

"Really? Didn't you find that strange? That they were foreseeing something so… final?" Ann leans in and she knows that she's already prying far more than she thought she'd be able to skim through without Captain Gates in the room.

"Well, like I said, small family." The tone comes across a little defensive, a little too aware of any suspicions that Ann may have. "You can never be too prepared."

"Is there anyone else they feared could take over custody?" Hastings digs again. She's already half way down the hole, and she might as well just keep going. "I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable but you rarely see this preparedness unless the family already has the sense of a looming custody battle."

The woman crosses her legs, prim and her back straight, hands poised elegantly on her knees. For a second, Diana takes a pause and Ann can feel that she's biting down whatever response had been the reflexive counter.

"I don't know how this is relevant to you trying to get William back to me, or resolving my in-law's assassination," Diana finally says, her eyes digging deeply into Ann's.

"I'm just gathering information, Mrs. Topher," the officer clarifies. Her eyes don't waiver and she holds the brunette's powerful gaze. She mirrors her posture, crossing her legs and settling her board on the coffee table. "If there's any other part of the family that would want to keep William, then it's just natural that –"

"There isn't anyone else," Diana interrupts, letting the aggravation flourish in her voice for the briefest of moments. "Say, is Captain Gates coming soon, I'd like to talk to her about all the details that she can give me. No offense, but you're just a beat cop, right?"

Ann regards her with a tightlipped smile and a nod. She'll be damned, but there's more to this woman than just your token grieving in-law.

* * *

Their drive to the 12th is fast, considering that every New Yorker is on their way to work and cabs and buses are already in their daily battle over road space. It doesn't help that there's still snow on the ground, or the fact that more people are out and about finishing their Christmas shopping. Still, the drive is fast, or Kate's too preoccupied with her thoughts to notice that they're only a couple of blocks away from the precinct and she hasn't uttered a word since they left the café.

"The garage is just around the corner," she informs him. "I have to identify us to be able to access it."

"That won't be a problem." Mulder responds, calmly, as he turns into the next street. Kate wonders how it is that he's so cool about it. How many times did he go undercover in his time at the FBI? How many times did he lie his way into getting what he wanted?

She fidgets in her seat, trying to will herself into the persona that she has to adopt for the sake of their plan. She tries tricking her mind into thinking that this is just like any other day when she covered her shifts at Vice. Only she wasn't lying to her best friends then. Lying didn't feel this wrong when she was doing it for the sake of putting vicious criminals behind bars. _This time you're doing it to free yourself,_ she repeats. The fact that Castle and she still hide their relationship from the boys doesn't make her feel this guilty. It is their personal life after all; it doesn't affect other people's lives. But this plan… this plan has the potential to endanger many innocents for the sake of… _The greater good,_ whatever that means.

They near the checkpoint at the bottom of the garage and a uniform approaches the car with caution, aware that this luxurious sedan isn't part of the precinct's usual pool.

Mulder lowers the driver's window while exchanging a quick look with her.

_Showtime._

"Hi, Matta," Beckett says, stretching over to the driver's side so the rookie officer can see her face. "It's okay. He's with me, and so is the sedan behind us. They're FBI."

"Detective Beckett!" The young man greets her, almost cutting her off, obviously in the know of the situation that took place last night. "I'm glad to see you safe and sound. Of course I can let you through, but may I see some ID, just for the sake of… you know?"

"Of course," Mulder obliges and produces a leather wallet, his fake FBI badge on display for him. A knot tightens in her stomach as the fear of being caught starts to settle in her bones, but not an ounce of doubt appears on Matta's face.

"Thank you, Agent Miller," Kate is almost startled at the mention of the different last name; _right, it's not Mulder, it's Miller_. _Get that straight in your head, Kate._

"Deputy Director Smith is right behind us," Mulder informs him, and the mention of rank impresses the young officer, his posture straightening up just enough.

"I'll make sure to speed up his access as well," Matta takes a quick note of the badge number and car plates. "Please, go ahead." He waves for the operator to lift the barrier and they move into the structure. Kate checks on the exchange at the car behind them, indeed brief and fuss free, and makes a mental note to figure out how to actually correct the problem that they just entered the precinct illegally and easily fooled a police officer with fake identifications. Later, she'll do that later… for the people that in the future intend to fool the NYPD... like she just did. Crap. She hasn't even entered the bullpen and already the guilt is eating her alive. Kate takes a few deep breaths; she needs to get herself under control.

Mulder parks in one of the visitor spaces and Skinner follows them right away. Kate takes a calming breath as they exit the sedan, straightening her clothes and pulling at the leg of her pants, self-conscious about the device on her ankle.

"You're fine. No one will notice it." Mulder eases, reading the discomfort on her face. He dons his jacket and so does the older man, exchanging a look. They're ready to roll.

"I'll take the first pass of the events once we get in there," Beckett lays down the plan as they walk towards the bank of elevators. "You can fill in with your part of the story once I'm done."

"That sounds about right," Mulder agrees. They enter the elevator and Beckett immediately pushes the 4th floor button, welcoming the fact that no one rides the cab with them. "You like being first, don't you?"

The familiar comment moves something inside her. The side glance she throws him catches the smirk he's plastered all over his face and she wonders if this is how it went for Mulder and Scully as well; the innocent flirting, the smartass comments, the dare to go further down the rabbit hole with each day of longing for one another.

Yes, she has definitely been hanging _way too much_ with Castle. She's getting soft and becoming a sap.

"Whatever you do, don't try to get into a gigantic pissing match with my Captain," she says, clearing her throat and regaining control over her thoughts as the cab climbs up to their destination. "Even as FBI, it's hard to win one with this woman. She's me… a _meaner_ me."

"Or a _future_ you…?" Skinner asks, and the man's suggestion startles her a little.

Mulder stifles a snort as the doors open and they exit the elevator; she takes firm steps toward the room, heads whipping back as the people on the floor notice her presence, low and surprised whispers, and growing smiles. Yeah, they're so happy to see her back, in one piece, and she cannot help but notice the similarity to the day she walked back in after recovering last year. This time though, the feeling is completely opposite; she's ashamed and not feeling at all victorious.

"Beckett!" Esposito greets her, eager and relieved; there's no need to say the words, he's happy to see that she's alright. "Yo! Ryan!" He calls out as Ryan steps out of the audiovisual room and rushes toward her, along with a couple of other officers that seem to be running point with them.

"Hey guys," she responds with a small smile; she doesn't really know how to face them. Should she be happy? Or mildly concerned? Some point in between?

"Kate, are you alright?" Ryan questions her and concern is written all over his face. They probably stayed all night trying to find them, of course. The bile in her stomach starts burning, very much like her shame.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm banged up but I'm okay."

"Where's Castle?" Espo asks eyeing the two men flanking her. "Where's the boy?"

She sighs and signals to Mulder and Skinner.

"It's complicated," Beckett begins.

"Detective Beckett," Gates calls out, coming out of her office and catching up with the excitement in the room. "I'm glad to see you back safe and sound."

"Thank you, sir." Her eyes drift to the floor, not able to hold her superior's greeting, fearing she will read the lie in her.

"What's going on?" Gates asks, eyeing Kate's company.

"Captain Gates, is it?" Skinner starts, extending a hand towards the woman.

"Yes." The woman's eyebrow rises; one of the tells that Beckett has learned to read on her boss. This particular one means _I'm the alpha dog of this yard, and you smell suspiciously like a cat._

"I'm Deputy Director Smith with the FBI," he shakes her hand and Kate can see Gates' wheels spinning at the unexpected rank of the man before her.

"Special Agent Miller, also FBI," Mulder introduces himself, confident and casual, but with a sense of authority in his voice.

"Is there a more private room where we can speak?" Skinner requests. Gates seizes them with her eyes, not intimidated but definitely curious, and then trains a concerned look on Beckett.

"Yes, of course. Let's go into my office." The woman leads them into her quarters, and they all follow suit, professional and no nonsense, but Kate cannot avoid the traded looks between Esposito and Ryan, and the concern behind it.

She knows that the boys are dying to know what's going on, so she sneaks a signal with her hand: _calm down, guys_ , she tries to communicate. _I'll be back later to lie to your faces,_ she thinks as she walks into the office and settles in one of the chairs in front of Gates' desk.

Of all the things that Kate Beckett dreads the most, it's to fall down the rabbit hole of a lie that she won't be able to control.


	14. Chapter 14

Captain Victoria Gates is exactly what he imagined. A _tough as nails_ woman that he'll be lucky to fool, but Mulder always liked to play with fire. And this isn't his first rodeo.

He is completely aware of the _New York Style_ when it comes to the character of law enforcement agencies. Each city has its ways; small, uneventful and on the verge of having their reality changed forever, like in Home, Pennsylvania; or no nonsense, busy and experienced as with the Homicide department of the 12th precinct in Manhattan.

People and their beliefs are what make the difference. He'd be scared if this woman were his boss - not that Skinner was any easier than her, or that he didn't battle things and people that were far scarier in other arenas - but what makes this different is that Victoria Gates' weapon is her righteousness.

It's hard on the conscience to cheat good folks.

As Beckett fills her in on their fabricated story, he makes a thorough effort to check for any signal that she may be failing to convince her boss.

"Despite the circumstances, I'm indeed glad that you could get away from these people," Gates notes, relief showing through, and her concern evident in her voice. "And while it is terrible that Mr. Castle and the boy weren't able to evade them as well, I am glad that they're together."

Beckett nods in understanding, lips pressed in a thin line that attempts to express some kind of agreement with the woman, perhaps a smidge of delight. This is something that he has already recognized from Detective Katherine Beckett; her face is perhaps one of the most expressive that he's had the opportunity to encounter.

Mulder wonders if this is a result of her honesty or the fact that she seems to wear her heart on her sleeve. Despite her herculean efforts to wear a force field to cover her weaknesses, and a temper to match, Kate Beckett is the bashful owner of a noble soul. Her expressiveness might get them into trouble at some point; she almost certainly doesn't spend her free time playing poker. Then again, it doesn't take a genius to guess with what, or well, with _whom_ she spends all her free time.

"Where do these drawings fit into the whole story?" Gates asks leaning on her desk, lacing her fingers in front of her.

"While the Van de Kamps were inside the cult, their people taught William how to encode maps," Mulder explains, sizing up the impact of the information on the woman. He's not lying, not exactly. "These drawings are a combined variety of messages that only a few can decipher."

"We were bringing a specialist in a few hours…" she informs him.

"It won't do any good. Only members of this very secluded cult can read them," Mulder clarifies, and it's true; no one but William, and maybe Ally, in a far off and skewed kind of way.

"So this is why they want him?" She asks; her voice is wary. Mulder's not sure that she bought the fact that William truly is the only one. Perhaps he should tone down the all-knowing, FBI agent spiel. "What kind of messages do they hide?"

Mulder takes a deep breath and exchanges a look with Skinner. If they're to follow their so-called rank, he'll let the older man deliver the most _compromising_ piece of news, fake news... well, maybe not so fake.

"It could be anything from everyday communication to… domestic terrorism." Mulder watches, as he can literally see the color drain from the woman's face, the air escaping her lungs as if someone has punched her in the gut, her eyes never leaving Skinner's. Kate's though, are examining the floor beneath her seat, avoiding meeting her boss' gaze as much as she can.

The silence becomes deafening after a while and Victoria Gates gets up from her seat, hands on her hips, taking a few steps away from her chair.

"I—" She stutters, hesitates, and rushes to the windows of her office, shutting all the open blinds for good measure. "Am I to assume these people are preparing a terrorist attack in the city?"

It almost sounds like a scold, incredulity seeping through every surface of her tone.

"We can't assure you _that_ ," Mulder tries to clarify, and even if he were really telling this woman the truth, he couldn't really predict the plans of the cult. "What we can tell you is that the longer we take to put William in the same room with these drawings, the more we are at risk being in the dark about what their plans are."

The last part of the statement comes out more anxious than he had meant it to, but he needs to push. He needs to get the ball rolling and his team working towards finishing this age-old dance.

"The question remains; am I to suppose the Bureau wants to take over?" The woman leans on the side of her desk, arms crossed stubbornly across her chest.

"I'm sure you are well aware of the drill. This is a case that we've been tracking through various states," Skinner explains, only to be cut off by Captain Gates' argument.

"But unless you're counting going after these folks through state lines as part of their charges, or that you're for real accusing them of terrorism," her hands speak volumes as they gesture and grip her hips, "all events happened in the state of New York, more specifically in my precinct's jurisdiction."

And there it is; the claws of this tiger have appeared. Yeah, this is also not _her_ first rodeo. This won't be easy; Beckett was right. Mulder wasn't really expecting any less, and neither was the detective, not by the ' _I told you so'_ look she's throwing at him.

Gates cocks her head defiance, expecting their convincing argument. He looks at Skinner and the man looks back at him; it's his turn, and maybe not the wisest idea, because his patience is running short. Gates clears her throat; hers is running thin as well.

"You fail to see the bigger picture here," Mulder begins, and he means to seem level headed, he really does, but this meeting is bringing back memories of some serious head-butting in offices of the Hoover, and that only ever led to ridiculous danger.

"We've been trying to infiltrate this cult for a while; the Van de Kamps risked their life just by trying to get away." He can feel his jaw setting and instinctively tries to loosen the tension, cracking his neck, but it's not really working. "Letting the NYPD lead the investigation because the actual documented crimes happened in the city will bring down an effort of multiple task forces, the careful treatment we've given to this will go to waste… make their deaths completely worthless."

His heart rate is soaring by the time he ends his argument, and his voice raised more than he meant it to, but he's not lying. Letting them make a cluster fuck of this problem and call the shots won't help their plans. Even if Castle and William aren't in any danger, they will be if they don't play this carefully. They all could be. Only _they_ know how to handle the dangerous and vicious strategies of the leader of the cult. Curtis Weaver is on Mulder's top-five list of people that were bred by Satan himself.

It's up to Skinner, or _Smith_ , Mulder corrects his thoughts as the man shifts in his seat next to him, to smooth the wrinkles of his outburst. The older man leans towards the authoritarian woman, with a conciliatory tone and a side-glance aimed at him that clearly says, ' _I'll be kicking your ass later'._

"What I think Agent Miller wants to get across, is that while we're really sorry they were killed –"

"Murdered," Gates corrects him, bitterly.

"Yes," Skinner nods, " _murdered_ , as you say… what we want to avoid, is to loosen our grip on this case. If we do, more _events_ like this one will occur."

"They gave their life to protect their son." _My son_ , Mulder thinks, his cadence a lot calmer now. "We know their objectives, their weaknesses, and we're very close to finishing this nonsense."

"Mr. Castle and William's lives have a better chance with us leading the way." Skinner takes a final stab, and he can see that he is getting through to the woman. Beckett adjusts in her seat, and Mulder is sure that it's due to the mention of her partner's name. He doesn't want to think that this is the deliberate way that they'll force her hand into agreement, but if it comes to it, he knows that while it will be unfair, his son and the greater good hold a heavier grip.

"Well, I'm pretty sure that by the end of the day I won't really have a choice," Gates perches her glasses back up her nose, masking the eye roll and the twitch that tells of her annoyance. "You'll probably get the gods in the marble halls involved in this pissing match."

"That's the thing Captain Gates, we don't want it to be that way." Skinner clarifies.

"What do you mean?" The Captain goes back to the seat behind her desk, and the sly way her eyebrows adjust over her eyes tells him that she's nothing but surprised at this.

"I'm sure that you're aware that the power players in the terrorism race have changed." Skinner begins, the story flows from him, studied, carefully laid out. He's not unfamiliar to it; they've talked about this at length before. This would be their fall back story, and Ally was careful enough to put together great notes for them. It is also what he has been doing for the last few years; trying to figure out who's the enemy in a world that has lost all sense of black and white. "There has been a suspicion for a while that the members of this cult have had the ability to infiltrate. Deploying a federal team would alert their sources of our plans; let them prepare for the magnitude of the strike we want to unleash."

"Hence why they're asking to be secretive…" Beckett intervenes and her voice seems foreign after being in silence the last few minutes of the conversation.

"I understand your hesitation towards the unique nature of our request and the circumstances, but this is why I've come to support Agent Miller." Skinner continues explaining.

It works for them that Skinner plays this part. They cannot afford to be questioned in their authority, to have Gates digging into the legitimacy of their credentials, even if that call is more than arranged for on their side. Having a Deputy Director in the room means that things are less questioned, even when this woman seems like she won't budge.

"I know how it sounds, and I know you'd be having a very delicate situation on your hands," Skinner admits, trying to bond with his cohort. "But I'm putting my reputation on the line as well by putting all my chips in on this bet. The integrity of this operation, it's of the utmost importance to our agency."

Mulder has to fight the laugh when he thinks about how ironic it is that they're using the FBI to blanket their operation. Back in the day, not only would Skinner laugh at his naïve intention of having the agency sponsor his search, but also this man was the one standing ground at the allowance door for half of the time that he carried the X-Files along with Scully.

"If you're so paranoid about information being leaked, what makes you think that they won't be able to infiltrate NYPD as well?" Gates asks, challenging their logic. And she's right; they have to tip-toe around this logic.

Mulder gets up from his seat and takes a step towards the wall, looking at the framed awards and certificates that celebrate Gates' career in the NYPD. He's buying himself time, and spreading the tension; upping the pressure for dramatic effect.

"We cannot undo whatever information has already been spread about the case." He fixes his eyes on a picture of Gates' family resting on a nearby tabletop. "But I was assured by Detective Beckett that your team is a solid one, that full trust has been placed in it during very sensitive cases."

Mulder stands behind Beckett and braces his hands on the back of her seat.

"What we're asking is to become a real and truthful task force…" he says.

"Go on," the captain coaxes.

"We'd really appreciate it if we could collaborate." Mulder continues, circling around the space, making his point, and selling the plan. "Right now, they're expecting the NYPD to be involved, but not the feds. If we play by those expectations, they probably won't prepare for anyone to know too much of their background, they'll think that they only have to watch out for some flat-feet, sniffing around some random gang shooting."

Gates nods her understanding with a slight frown of disgust at his choice of words.

"The NYPD will be the _muscle_ ," he makes the effort to correct the term, trying to convey he's not selling them short, "but with our knowledge, steering this ship, it would be-"

"As if it were the FBI in disguise." Gates completes. "This might the one instance that common misconceptions could work to your advantage."

There's a moment of silence while the woman meditates about what she was just proposed. She leans back in her chair and takes a deep breath. He's sure that she's already evaluating what kind of problems and danger she might be signing up for.

"Okay, what's the next step?" she asks without looking at them.

"We would like Detective Beckett to come in as our right hand," Mulder informs her, earning him Gates' full attention. "For the sake of the precinct, she'd be the one leading the investigation."

"I don't like this…" Gates quips. "Some of them might wonder why she is leading the disappearance of her own partner…"

"I was told she's your best detective…" Skinner argues. "Who else would you have appointed?"

"I would have led myself, but… I guess that would bring even more attention."

"Captain Gates, we don't really have to do this; we're giving you an opportunity here. It's your call." Skinner is the one playing poker now.

"You just said that you need us," Gates challenges, calling his bluff.

"To make it seamless, yes, but we can always get it our way. It would just represent a bigger risk to the hostages." And the mention of them works like a charm when it comes to playing with the resolve of the woman. Skinner delivers the last hit. "You want to solve your homicide and get your man back? Come play with us. We're going after the big fish."

"What do you think, Detective?" Gates asks Beckett after what seems like an eternity. Mulder is about to burst out of impatience, pacing behind them.

Kate looks at him and Skinner; her gaze is steely and resolute. She's ready to roll as well, but there's something else there that he can't figure out just yet.

"I think that they may have a point, Sir," she begins, leaning her elbows on her knees. "But I think that maybe we could afford to come to a better agreement."

Kate's eyes fixate on him and he feels it like a punch in the gut. This is not what they talked about; she waited until they were on her turf to shift the tables on him and he doesn't like it. Mulder can feel the heat in his face as he tries to control his anxiety; so much for trusting this woman.

"I work as a team, and one of my partners is already compromised." Kate explains, getting the new aspects of her deal through. "I need the rest of my team with me. If I'm to come in and _help_ , I'd like Detective Esposito and Detective Ryan to remain in the loop and be part of this operation… not just ' _some muscle'_."

She's daring him, blatantly defiant.

"Captain Gates?" Skinner addresses the woman for her opinion.

"They are indeed a team. Working separately would only bring more questions." She assures. Skinner nods, evaluating the situation himself and checking on Mulder for his own opinion.

"I guess that if it's only going to help…" He bites back his confusion and bitterness at Beckett for her betrayal. Though, it dawns on him that he doesn't understand why if she was the one that wanted her team out of this whole deal, now all of the sudden she's changed her mind. It's killing him that he can't guess her play, that she's maneuvering about this without a clear path. It's killing him even more that he cannot figure out this woman. He obviously underestimated her. Some profiler he is.

"And I'd like Captain Gates to be able to get first rounds of appraisals." Beckett delivers the last request, and he can see the shift in the boss' features. It verges on awe and gratefulness, and he'll be damned if he didn't just see her hide a smile, if ever so small.

"If we're to mobilize the bodies of the NYPD, and it should look that way," the detective explains, clearing her throat once more, "then she has to be fully involved, or at least be the one to be the face. You can only be… _for the sake of the NYPD_ , some sort of consultants. Nothing else."

The last part of that sentence almost sounded as if she was delivering it with pleasure. And then he gets it. Detective Kate Beckett had agreed to lie to her people, but not to undermine them in the process. She is proud of who they are… and this, this is something that he's completely unfamiliar with. He never, ever, loved the FBI.

"I'm guessing we can live with that." Skinner agrees, checking with Mulder and pulling him out of his reflections.

"Yeah. I guess we can." Mulder concedes. He will agree to these new conditions, but he plans to have a thorough conversation with the detective. He cannot let her play outside their plan.

"I don't think we can afford to waste any more time, and for the sake of both our accounts, we have to keep the processes going. Not only to resolve the homicide but to bring Castle and William back," Gates urges, adjourning the meeting.

Everyone in the room gets to their feet following Gates' lead towards the door.

"Detective Beckett," she says, fixing her with an authoritative stare, but her voice is softer than before. "Get Esposito and Ryan up to speed, as discreetly as possible. Organize the information to have a general meeting with the rest of the team."

She nods in agreement, and Mulder can see the relief in the younger woman's face.

"I can join you. That way we can be on the same page?" he requests, and by the look on Beckett's face he knows that she can read between the lines.

"Sure," she responds, turning her attention to him. She sounds more than agreeable, but her eyes tell it all as they roll her annoyance away.

"In the meantime, there's some hand holding to do," Gates continues her orders, still fixated on Beckett. "I suppose you'll be notifying Castle's family at some point?"

Yeah, this woman definitely knows about them, Mulder confirms, and he finds it amusing that Beckett thinks they've been smarter than their boss; she's just being naïve, very naïve.

"Yes, sir." Kate responds, and a sudden shadow clouds her features. He wonders how close she is to her boyfriend's family; would Castle want to worry them, fool them about where he is? More importantly, will Kate?

They exit the office and follow the Captain into the bullpen. Everyone stands on attention at their presence in the room, but Gates bypasses their curious looks. He can tell that even if there are other cases to be working on, everyone knows that this is the one that matters, and if it weren't for the fact that he's using them, he'd be so relieved and happy that there are still law enforcers that believe in their work so fiercely.

"While you get to both of those tasks, I have to join Hastings and catch up with her interview of the Van de Kamp's next of kin," Gates informs as they move across the room. That last part makes him do a double take.

"Excuse me?" Mulder asks, trying to hold back his surprise.

"Yes, Agent Miller?" The woman's annoyance is evident; he had better control himself.

"You've notified the Van De Kamps relatives?" His breathing quickens and he can feel his heartbeat throbbing in his ears. Skinner meets his eyes. He knows; this isn't right.

"Yes, their sister-in-law." A patrol officer hands her a couple of forms that she signs quickly while she continues on her way. "She arrived just before you guys; has been waiting for me. One of our officers has been pre-interviewing her. Is anything the matter?"

Gates stops short and he has to think quickly before he alerts this woman that he wasn't prepared for this.

"No, no. I'm just surprised that, well, she got here this fast." Mulder flashes her with a soft smile, trying to seem cooperative. "Say, Captain Gates, could I sit in with you, get acquainted with your techniques?"

"Weren't you joining Detective Beckett?" She questions and her eyebrow rises to make a point.

"I'm sure Deputy Director Smith is more than capable of splitting the load." Mulder throws him a look and Skinner nods reassuringly.

"Whatever suits your fancy," she shrugs. "Meet me there in two. I need a trip to the ladies room and second cup of coffee."

Gates separates from the group and Beckett leads the group down the hall and towards the lounge.

"I'd much rather _you_ joined me while I talk to my boys," she mutters.

"Oh me too, and we certainly need to talk, 'specially after that stunt you just pulled on me. But right now, I need to meet this _next of kin_ ," Mulder says nonchalantly as he takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves.

"What's so special about her?" Beckett picks up on his masked reticence, and the looks and change of air between him and the older man.

"Well, a couple of things. One, George and Jane didn't have siblings," his voice is just above a whisper, and the detective meets his eyes in worry. "And two, Scully and I were the ones registered as their next of kin. We weren't called."

Kate stops in her tracks and checks the perimeter. Everyone is looking at them but no one really knows what's going on.

"Shouldn't we warn Gates about this?" She asks, her voice laced with worry but her face playing the part.

"And bring attention to our different _involvement_?" Mulder cannot afford to bring any more suspicion onto the ones that he's sure the captain already has. This person has to be a member of the cult trying to outsmart them. "No, let me get in the room. You do your part; I'll check this out. If this turns out to be something we should take care of… I'm sure I can handle it."

They slowly stride to the door of the lounge and Gates meets them, cup in hand. A blonde officer exits as they gather.

"Thank you, Officer Hastings," Gates addresses her, and the uniformed woman nods shyly.

"Of course, Captain." The woman hands a few forms to Gates. "I was just coming to get you… Mrs. Diana Topher, sister-in-law, she's growing a bit… impatient."

A grimace forms on their faces, sympathetic at least.

"Aren't we all?" Gates says, throwing a look at him. "Ready?"

"You bet," Mulder responds.

They enter the dimly lit room, leaving Beckett and Skinner behind. The woman sits with her back to them as they approach, her brown tailored hairstyle resting just above her shoulders.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mrs. Topher," Gates offers her hand in greeting at the woman who stands slowly to meet their presence. "I trust that Officer Hastings made sure that you know that the whole precinct is working on your family's case…"

The brunette shakes the Captain's hand firmly as they engage in their conversation, but the room begins to spin around Mulder and the sounds become a dull white noise, as his eyes meet the woman's. His hands start to shake and he feels as if all the air has been violently extracted from his lungs. It can't be. It just can't.

The woman gives her a demure smile and turns to him; he has to brace to the back of the chair to mask the fact that his knees buckle and he feels like throwing up. She doesn't even flinch, her elegant posture a familiar and haunting vision that he never thought he would experience again.

He expected an impostor, someone from the cult infiltrating, but not her.

She's supposed to be dead.

Diana Fowley… she's supposed to be dead.


	15. Chapter 15

INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND, NEW JERSEY  
DEC. 21ST, 2012

"We might as well make some breakfast. You want some?" Monica offers.

"We have some microwaveable eggs and bacon." John joins the brunette as she roots around their makeshift kitchenette. "It doesn't sound gourmet, but believe me, it's better than eating granola for the rest of your stay." Castle has to admit that the coffee and the lack of sleep are hitting the lining of his stomach like burning acid.

"Sure, I'd love some," he confirms with a grateful nod. The couple concentrates on their chores, bumping into each other's space playfully. The man seems aggravated, but he's clearly enjoying the closeness of his wife. Scully strides to their side, collecting a fresh serving of black java and sits across him at the table; he leans in, resting his weight on his elbows and trying to release the tension in his spine. He's feeling more confident with these people; they feel unassuming, even personable.

The steam billows off Scully's coffee and he gives her a second to enjoy the beverage while he examines his clasped hands. When he lifts his eyes, Scully is studying him; the woman's penetrating gaze doesn't transmit a lust filled thrill, though she's obviously beautiful and unconsciously alluring. Her eyes are deep with knowledge. He's seen these types of eyes before; she's wise beyond her years, filled with a million and one experiences, emotions that are masked behind a studied façade of demure control.

They're so different from Kate's, though both women seem to be just as taken by the caffeine. Her lips wrap around the rim of the cup and he takes his cue.

"Why do you say that William is their biggest threat?" He doesn't want to miss a beat of this conversation. It has been years since he has been this enthralled with a story; the anticipation and adrenaline courses through his veins at the imagery in his head.

"Because they cannot risk not having him," Scully explains, never separating her face from the cup, as if the aroma of the concoction gives her some kind comfort. "But at the same time… they have no idea how to control his power."

"You think that they'd harm William… for their purposes?" He doesn't want to put it out there, but if these people were so at ease with the way that they attacked the Van De Kamps, what's to say they won't be equally violent to get their way if the kid were to ever fall into their hands?

The redhead's lips purse in indecision, she measures her next words carefully, setting her cup down on the metallic surface of the table between them.

"The faction's original plan was to brainwash him," Scully says through a sigh that escapes her lips. She takes a pause and the sounds of the activity behind her seem like a staccato that accentuates the anticipation. "The first time they had an opportunity to play with him, he- well, he proved them wrong."

There's a slight smile to her, neither a demure one nor a hidden one, but combined with the raise of her eyebrow. It only tells him that she actually enjoys in an almost sarcastic way whatever memory she's running through her head.

"They had access to him before?" Castle asks just as John hands him a plate of surprisingly fluffy eggs, toast and crispy bacon. He guesses the latter is one of those ready-to-go versions but he doesn't care, he immediately bites into it, and he can't help the moan that escapes him.

"Yes. He was… what, I'd say five months old?" Monica gives a similar plate to Scully as she takes a seat at the table as well. The scene is a bit surreal, like a normal family breakfast with a side of conspiracy and a glass of extraterrestrial.

"Five months and three weeks," Scully states while she spreads a portion of strawberry jam on her bread. "He was just starting to actively show that he was… different."

A tilt of her head, a bite of her toast, and Castle waits for her to elaborate but she won't give it away that easy.

"How so? How did you know?" He asks as he tries not to seem insensitive by chuckling at the situations that he imagines baby William in.

"An FBI agent crossed the border with a piece of a… spaceship." Doggett begins between bites of his scrambled eggs. "Agent Robert Comer."

"Was he part of the X-Files?" He gets a shake of Doggett's head in response.

"No, he was a former colleague of mine in New Orleans," Monica responds. "He had been assigned by the Deputy Director to infiltrate a cult in North Dakota that had been issuing threats to Mulder. There he met Zeke Josepho, the leader of the faction, back when their conviction was very clear."

Castle continues to eat his breakfast as the woman travels down memory lane.

"They found a buried ship, and Josepho believed that it contained a physical manifestation of god. This deity had told them about William. He was to be coveted by the forces of good and evil. Whoever controlled him would hold the power, because William would lead the Alien forces to colonize the planet… if his father were to be dead." She lets that information sink in and Castle trades glances with John. The man shrugs his shoulders, and he has to keep reminding himself that this is not a science fiction movie.

"At the time, Mulder was in hiding;" Monica continues her explanation, "we hadn't heard from him in weeks and we thought that they had killed him and so did Comer. He believed in Josepho, but did not agree that the Aliens were meant to be the rulers… so, to prevent this prophecy from coming true-"

"He wanted to kill William?" Castle can't help jumping ahead.

"Yes. We stopped him, but this piece of the spaceship proved to have powers," Scully says, carefully measuring her words, "and William could control it."

"What kind of powers?"

"Well, by itself it would cure any ailment on anyone that held it." She wipes her lips with a napkin as she sets her breakfast aside. "I shot Comer three times, and with a swipe of that artifact he was as good as new."

Castle stops mid chew, swallowing hard and helping himself to some of his left over coffee.

"I had seen something similar to it a couple of years before; a piece from another ship. This thing - the powers of it - are unexplainable, yet so incredibly stunning." There's some kind of awe that glows on her face as she continues with the tale, and Castle wonders if part of the result of dealing with this reality is that she has learned to find the beauty in it. "At some point, we found William making it hover above him, just like that, slowly over his head."

Monica smiles at what he assumes is the memory of the moment, shaking her head and stealing a piece of bacon from Scully's plate. The women trade glances, the red head offering the plate at the brunette, but she waves it off. It's all so easy the way they relate, like sisters, good old friends. He likes it.

"It wasn't only that." Scully gets up and deposits her plate inside the garbage bag. "When his actions became noticeable, so did the little things I had missed or disregarded in the past. Like him spinning his mobile when he was just a month old; it would move of its own volition… or the toys being rearranged on the shelves when he couldn't even crawl his way out of the crib."

She gets back to her seat and fidgets with the napkin that rests creased on the surface of the table.

"The faction cased my apartment. We knew that we needed to get away." Her finger traces the patterns of the drawings embossed on the paper, a distraction, he can tell for sure, to keep her from looking him in the eye. It tells him that the moment must have been an anxiety-riddled one. "We formulated a plan with three renegade friends of ours; the Lone Gunmen."

There's a bittersweet smile on her lips and a traded look between her and the other two former agents.

"God, I miss those guys," John says after a while.

Castle wonders what kind of people could take that name as their moniker and tries to dig into his mental database for any familiarity to it, past any Kennedy assassination theories. It must be definitely linked to some sort of questionable activities if you combine it with an adjective such as _renegade_. Their semblance also tells him that they had probably died; somber faces, mixed with crinkled eyes, probably reacting to fond memories.

"The faction outsmarted us." Scully continues, the determined tone of her voice breaking the spell. "John took a big one for the team; they almost killed him."

He looks to John, who nods at him in silent agreement of the grave piece of information.

"They distracted us, intercepted the Gunmen, and took William." The fact that he stops breathing catches him off guard. Scully's delivery of the statement gets to him; fierce, resolute, and with a contained anger hiding as an undertone.

"I was in a coma for a few days." Doggett grabs his plate and Monica's, their fingers grazing in just the smallest way. "They weren't counting on the fact that a tiny little baby had the power to do what he did." He points to Castle's plate. "You done with that?"

Castle nods and he takes it away and reaches for Ally's, but the girl swats his hand away from her food remains.

"What happened?" Castle asks, willing them to continue with the story.

"We don't really know, I mean, exactly," Scully responds with sincere expression. It dawns on him that they might never have all the answers at hand. "They had him at the digging site - he blew it up. He was the only survivor."

He fixes her with a look of disbelief and she nods at him; her face shows a mix of gravity and something else, like she's familiar with the look of incredulity. Castle is speechless, and he doesn't notice right away but he has covered his mouth in the process of digesting that piece of news. It comes in handy, because he can't help but let a smirk surface as he leans in, closer to the woman in front of him.

"You're telling me that he has death-ray eyesight?" Castle's voice is just above a whisper and just below a tease.

"Its more mental than actual physical abilities," Scully counteracts. "He has the power to meld reality, read minds, manipulate matter … as you've seen."

_So they know about Kate_ , he thinks. Scully tilts her head just slightly and a smirk grows on her face this time. A demure cough from Ally lets him know that she's aware as well.

"Having the control over someone with these faculties means having the power over everything," Monica says, somewhat breaking the minor battle that had started to brew. He isn't ready to discuss what William had done to Beckett, mainly because he doesn't quite understand it yet. As much as he pushes her to be more open minded, things like this hit too close to home.

"Monica and I recovered him, but after that it was pretty clear that we would never be safe." Scully continues, clearing her throat in the process. "They weren't the only ones after William, and we'd never know for sure who to trust." She leans back in her chair, hands clasped demurely in her lap, and chances a look towards the door of William's room.

Castle follows her gaze, and he understands her weariness. He isn't even remotely involved in a situation like this but he feels sometimes that he wants to lock Alexis in a tower until he's got it through his head that she'll always be safe. He's also pretty sure Alexis would kill him though; probably outsmarting him and taking him apart in the process.

"It took another attack on him for me to decide what ultimately separated us." Scully's voice is thick with emotion and that startles him. "In hindsight, it might not have been the brightest of ideas, but there wasn't really a better option at the time."

"How so?" Castle treads carefully; this is what Mulder told them she had to do. Hearing it from Mulder just hours ago had struck him, but hearing it from the mother of this child, eyes glistening with the threat of unshed tears and a bottom lip that refuses to stop quivering, it guts him.

"If I had kept William with me, and I was to get killed in one of these kidnapping attempts, there would have been less of a chance for him," she explains, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. "You see, they never wanted to kill him, they'd never do that; they want to control him, treat him as an experiment, praise him, destroy him, push him until the brink of death… only to bring him back and start all over. They needed him, and they still do."

The thought of such cruelty makes him nauseous. He can feel the muscles in his cheeks strain with contained anger; they mirror Doggett's contempt. Monica and Ally sport equally serious expressions; the younger girl seems to hold a melancholy that he doesn't quite understand.

"As a baby, he only had us to defend him." Scully crumples the napkin in her fist into a tight ball, knuckles turning white with her forceful grip. "Mulder and I were the only ones that could ever prevent his demise by keeping these forces at bay. We brought him into this world and we'd fight until the end to keep him in it too, but having us together would make their hunt way too easy; we'd have been sitting ducks."

Castle sighs, as he begins to understand the reasoning behind this questionable strategy.

"You separated so that you would stretch their efforts." It's not a question but rather a way to coax her, his tone isn't a judgmental one, but instead he tries to make her see that he knows it was indeed their best bet.

"Yes, we did." She responds through gritted teeth and even though he saw her defend herself so fiercely from Beckett's accusations earlier, he can see how the choice still bothers her.

"Did it work?" Castle's voice is still gentle, genuine and curious. He just wants to know the details, because he knows the outcome. He wants to know the road between A and B, all the situations that shaped this odd group into what they are, into the circumstance that they've found themselves in.

"I guess it bought us time - time that we needed," Scully says, and her natural solemn state of being returns to her features. "Time to figure out things, to reunite, to give him a fighting chance to grow into his abilities. At some point, I understood that it was futile to try to fight those faculties, it's what makes him what he is; denying them would be to deny his existence."

Sometimes it amazes him how much people just don't notice these things, and he wonders if the young man that pursues Alexis would notice all the things that he has ingrained in his mind as to what makes her his daughter; what makes her special and unique. In the eighteen years that she has been in his life, he has taken it upon himself to enjoy every minute, every side of her, every proud moment and even those scarce moments when she has tested his patience.

He has learned that his daughter is no longer a child, but an independent young woman, even if it is so hard for him to reconcile. For Castle, she will always be the red head in pigtails that scraped her knees every other week climbing on the jungle gym, the girl that liked honey instead of syrup on her pancakes, and the one that even as a small child was more of a grown up than he will ever be.

Castle realizes then that Scully and Mulder were robbed of these moments, and that's such a huge sacrifice; he couldn't even imagine himself being able to make that decision. He shakes the impending sensation of doom from his bones and fixes on the woman before him.

"Did all this happen while you were at the FBI?" He asks, trying to regain a better footing, diverting to a place where emotions don't run too deep. "Are they involved?"

"Things aren't as black and white as you would imagine," John interjects, cautious, a crease of lines crossing his forehead.

"With Mulder in hiding…" Monica begins; leaning in, worry shows in her features as well. "We had gradually grown weary of everyone. Past alliances had betrayed us; in many ways. We couldn't even be sure that we were speaking to _real people_ anymore."

"Wait, what?" Castle recoils at her last statement.

"Don't worry, I'll explain that later," Ally dismisses, patting his hand as if he were an innocent child. And maybe he is.

"We received a call," Scully narrates matter-of-factly. "Mulder had been apprehended at Mount Weather, a military facility in Virginia… he was accused of killing a Marine; the late Knowle Rohrer."

"Was it true?" Suddenly, he feels an irrational fear creep up his bones. Beckett is alone with Mulder.

"Well, that depends…" John stabs, scoffing humorously and getting up from his seat. "How do you kill a man that cannot be killed? 'Cause, I tried a bunch of times before."

Castle makes a double take and he suspects that Doggett is inferring that this man happened to be one of those beings that they had alluded to earlier; he squeezes the bridge of his nose, the harsh pressure a welcome feeling to relieve the throbbing that he's beginning to feel. "I think I'm getting a headache."

"You wanted the story…" Monica reminds him, also getting up from her seat and joining Doggett in his cleaning chores.

"Please, go on," Castle urges.

"They came up with a ridiculous trial – it was even sanctioned by Alvin Kersh, the Deputy Director of the FBI at the time." The brunette continues on with the story, while she works in perfect synchronization with Doggett, to clean, pack, and assemble what seems like carry-on cases to take whatever is left of their equipment. "There was always bad blood between him and Mulder, but even _he_ couldn't avoid the truth; Mulder was being framed and he was being forced to become an accomplice to it. There was no way Mulder could get a fair trial, and we all knew it."

Ally gets up to give them a hand while Scully keeps him company.

"Did Kersh confess to it?" He asks, curious of the nature of this new character.

"Nope, but we had Gibson Praise to do our probing," John clarifies. Another character and truly he does feel like his head is overloading. He needs to rest but he can't allow himself to.

"He was a chess prodigy that Mulder and I had protected years before," Scully is the one to respond to his silent question. "The kid was part alien… well, more than any of us, and he shared a few of the same faculties with William."

"He could read minds?" Castle asks and Scully nods back at him. Maybe all those charlatans in his family weren't simply scam artists. Maybe they weren't charlatans at all.

"Gibson was called to testify in favor of Mulder in the trial, to try to explain that he was framed by his discoveries of this grand conspiracy." He can sense there's a level of annoyance at this part of the story; Castle senses that she might have had a problem letting the kid get involved in such a dangerous situation. _Of course she got upset,_ he thinks. _A lioness would never want the cub exposed to the hyenas._

"His testimony didn't really help," she continues, "but he was in the room long enough to see that some members of that so-called jury were indeed alien and from the shadow government."

There's a heavy clang as a couple of cases snap closed, and Monica straightens her back with a groan as she approaches the table again.

"After we exhausted our resources," she says, standing right next to Scully, "they sentenced Mulder to death by lethal injection. There wasn't even a way to appeal. Luckily, the results of this _trial_ were so outlandish that not even Kersh could afford to let it happen."

"We broke him out. It was fun." John retorts with a smirk, and Castle immediately imagines the whole operation, regardless of the fact that he has no details; in his head it was more than worthy of a _Storm_ novel. He can see the characters write themselves; forget the CIA and Sophia, all the other people he has exhausted by now. He is itching to write these characters… if only he makes it back in one piece.

"Mulder and I went out on our own, still looking for answers, still trying to figure out what we needed to do next." Castle wonders if he would be able to walk away from everything they knew if Beckett and he ever found themselves in a situation where there wasn't any other way out. He had proposed it to Kate at one point, to escape from Bracken's grasp. But could he really?

"They weren't done with us though." The severity behind Scully's words makes him grip his knees.

"After that, shit just hit the fan… and it was made very evident that it was the end of our lives as we knew them." Monica is leaning against the table, her eyes downcast, lips pursed, hands shoved deep into her pockets. "We were attacked from every flank."

Doggett takes a seat next to Castle, dabbing sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.

"We had known for a while that the vultures were circling but not to this extent." The man checks on the laces of his boots while he continues the story, almost casually, but Castle knows better. "By the next morning, we had learned that even more sinister forces had infiltrated the highest levels of the FBI; forces that would do whatever it took to get their way - a conspiracy of _beings_ so powerful that they didn't care about consequences. They had the means to disappear anyone and they weren't shy about it."

Scully gets up and Castle's eyes follow her as she discreetly moves to check in on William. He takes a deep breath as he sees Ally busy herself on her laptop. How can they deal with all of this? How can they bear the pressure? And how is it that people can go on about their lives while others have to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders?

"Why didn't they just shoot Mulder and get it over with? Didn't they have the chance?" He finally asks.

"You tell me, Castle. You're a mystery writer, right?" Monica dares, her eyes so intense on him. "What would be best? To destroy the man that seeks the truth, or to destroy the truth so no men can seek it?"

Scully comes back to their huddle, her shoulders a little slumped, and he guesses that she's also feeling the effects of their long night.

"You gotta understand, Castle." John's Brooklyn accent comes in clear in his clipped words. "They wanted to make Mulder the poster boy for whoever tried to pursue his mission, but at the same time, so much would have died with him if they succeeded. Mulder holds so much power with the truths he's learned over the years... No one could ever match it."

"He's your average walking and talking encyclopedia. The _little grey men_ edition," Ally comments from her computer, amused at her own joke. Castle shakes his head at the young woman; he appreciates her more and more for her dry humor.

"So what happened next?"

"There's a date… everyone is familiar with it, old prophecies and such… December, 22nd 2012," Monica starts.

The Mayan calendar, the Nostradamus prophecies, and so many others had indeed predicted the end of days by 2012… "Isn't it December, 21st, though? Today?" Castle corrects her, as alarm dawns on him, because if she's talking about this date, their time is precious.

"Don't get her started on that if you want to learn the rest of this story," Ally warns him. Castle nods at the girl; clearly they've had this issue come up more than once by the looks of it.

"Anyhow… where was I?" The woman leers at the younger one with a huff.

"The raining of hellfire and black helicopters…" Ally provides.

"Right…" Monica resumes, "these _people_ , if you can call them that, knew that Mulder and Scully had escaped and where they were headed. Gibson alerted us to it."

Monica is totally immersed in the telling of her story and she tells such a great one; passionate, full of emotion. He can feel the empathy seeping out of her pores.

"Did you have time to warn them?" he dares to ask.

"We did, it just wasn't easy because _they_ had strayed from our recommended path to make a detour and visit an old… _friend_." Monica turns to Scully, almost with a scowl.

"More like a sorry-ass super villain…" Ally interjects.

"…Or that." Monica throws her a sly smile and he wonders about the character that he's about to be introduced to. Scully takes the lead this time.

"You see, the way that Mulder had been given access to Mount Weather was thanks to a key sent to him by _a man that held the truth;_ a wise man hiding in the Anazazi ruins, deep in the desert, and Mulder wanted to, I guess, dig for that last thread."

"But there was no wise man to infuse us with eternal knowledge." The lament in the tone of her voice is evident; disgust brewing into a harsh and coarse vocalization. Her arms fold protectively across her chest and her eyes become steel.

"Instead, we found _CGB Spender_." She swallows hard, perhaps trying to contain her own desire to be as crass as Monica and Ally allow themselves to be. Castle finds this a show of restraint that tells a lot about Scully's upbringing. Her fortitude, her capacity to stand her ground is admirable.

"He had been a constant threat to us and a pioneer of the modern shadow government when it came together."

"Modern?" Castle questions and he already knows that his lack of scope will be criticized.

"There's a lot to this story than just the last century, Mr. Castle." Scully comments tiredly, and Castle knows that shadow governments have been part of every process in history; he just never imagined that they included visitors from other rocks.

"Mulder had learned that on this date, the final invasion would begin," Scully continues.

"As in _alien invasion_?" Castle asks, just for the sake of clarification and the woman nods.

"He confirmed it at Mount Weather. This complex will be the place where the current secret government will hide when it all goes down."

Over the years, he had learned of many refuges that had been built in case of natural disasters or atomic wars; he had even joked that there had to be many shaped perfectly for the impending zombie apocalypse. Joking aside, he knew that the powers within the government held plans that he could only ever imagine to understand in their broad scope; vaccination programs, area 51, and so on. But he never imagined that he'd be witness to a crisis like this in his lifetime.

"So you're telling me that tomorrow morning it all goes to hell?" Castle asks, and he swears that he can feel his pulse throbbing in every vein, an unwelcome sensation settling in the pit of his stomach; his hands feel clammy and uncomfortable.

"It's not like Hollywood, _Independence Day_ and what Will Smith says will happen," John jokes. "The invasion will be a lot more demure; it has been happening for a long while and it will continue happening until there's no turning back. Let's just say that December 22nd is _our_ particular deadline."

"Why?" Castle counters.

"We have to be out of the US by the end of tomorrow." Scully answers him, resolute.

"It's a government thing?" Castle probes more.

"Yeah, sort of. Kinda like a change of the guard, just without the pomp and circumstance," Monica confirms.

A change of guard… and if Castle's not mistaken, that means that this is when this _shadow government_ will take over the US government.

"I thought they needed William to do that," he comments, genuinely confused.

"There is more than one extraneous force trying to control us, and they may or may not share the same motivations," Ally explains. "This one in particular would happily sell their mother's souls if it meant they could control every decision made in the United States. There will still be presidents elected, congressmen and mayors, but the power will be held elsewhere. What makes them scarier than your _regular_ alien is that these people are not out to get you because of their propagation instincts, or a biological need, no; they're after their own kind. Once they take over, if we're still in the country, emergency measures will be established for the general population. A state of war will ensue and then they won't rest until they find us."

"The shadow government is the corrupt and manipulative part of this war; some of them are aliens, yes, but its more the _corporate_ side of this war." Scully explains picking up on Castle's confusion. "The faction actually hates their guts. While the first ones want control for the sake of economical and political control, the faction believes that the aliens, as the original inhabitants of this planet, should be the rulers of it. Its more of a philosophical choice."

Like always, conviction over convenience. Castle strokes his face, tired, he's tired but he's worried and hungry for more knowledge.

"If this is a global threat, would it really make a difference to leave?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON...
> 
> "The shadow government is the corrupt and manipulative part of this war; some of them are aliens, yes, but it's more the corporate side of this war." Scully explains picking up on Castle's confusion. "The faction actually hates their guts. While the first ones want control for the sake of economic and political control, the faction believes that the aliens, as the original inhabitants of this planet, should be the rulers of it. It's more of a philosophical choice."
> 
> Like always, conviction over convenience. Castle strokes his face, tired; he's tired but he's also worried, and hungry for more knowledge.
> 
> "If this is a global threat, would it really make a difference to leave?"

INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND, NEW JERSEY  
DEC. 21ST, 2012

"Once the change of guard happens, like we said, everything will seem exactly the same, but not to us. Once they take over we won't be able to exit the US," Scully continues. "Being abroad will allow us be far from their grasp. Not everyone is prone to being so _cooperative_ with this country."

"But -I just-" The scope of this conspiracy is the largest story that Castle has ever tried to make sense of. He has studied international conflicts in the past, like the historical origins of the World Wars, and many details of what transpired during the Cold War and so on, but never something that actively involved him. He was always looking in from the bleachers, and even when it came to fighting evil by Beckett's side, it was never, ever, this dangerous.

Well, there was the dirty bomb… but that would have wiped a city; compared to the scope of this conspiracy, that incident pales in comparison. He has to recognize that the secret to their _success_ so far rests on the fact that they've never looked back, they've just tackled the problem, knowing the risks but not paying attention to the fear of failure.

Still, he has to question it.

"What was the point of visiting this man, in the desert, if Mulder already knew?" Castle meets Scully's eyes. "If he already knew of this date and the nature of this conspiracy?"

"Well, this wasn't as clear back then," she laments. "Like I said, it was a last hope. Mulder didn't want to leave any stone unturned and I didn't know the nature of his findings at the time."

Scully runs a hand through her red tresses; a slow shake of her head and a tired sigh reveal disapproval of her own memories.

"Mulder had sheltered me from that knowledge, and going to talk to him was perhaps a last attempt to buy himself more time to deny this god-awful prediction, or find a way to prevent it. I guess he protected himself in my hopefulness, in my ignorance, before we had to face the truth. He just had a vague piece of information, and that didn't make for a game plan."

Scully takes another deep breath; her jaw sets, her shoulders square, and he knows that the next piece of information is not great… Even John and Monica seem to be bracing for impact.

"Imagine our surprise to find Spender was this _wise man in the desert_ ; decrepit, almost a corpse, a shell of the evil and powerful man he once was, but still he was just as sinister." She had been calm before, well, relatively. But now, Scully's tempo picks up as her anger is unleashed. "Imagine our deception when all we got was some kind of twisted vengeance. He only wanted to see Mulder broken, to see that he could do nothing to stop the invasion from taking place."

Castle waits, letting Scully's anger seep out of her, like venom that needs to be expelled.

"What was he doing hiding in desert ruins, of all places?" Castle asks, trying to contain the conversation and direct it out of the emotional realm.

"Not just any ruins, Magnetite covered ruins…" Monica quips.

"Supersoldiers don't stand a chance in the presence of it," Scully clarifies, still seething. "The coward had holed up in there, in his revolting tomb, waiting for death to come."

"Right… Supersoldiers?" Castle ponders, absently nodding. It wasn't so much of a question but more of a sardonic comment.

"You'll catch up." Ally winks at him. He has to admit, this kid reminds him of Alexis. She can't be much older, but she carries those years differently on her shoulders.

"So while Mulder and Scully were in their _meeting_ ," John says, continuing the narration of the accounts of the day, breaking away from the women's passionate dialogue. "Monica and I tried to warn them that the shadow government knew of their location, and were ready to take action…"

"As in…?" Castle's eyebrow rises in curiosity.

"As in hellfire and black helicopters," Ally states, recalling the comment that previously astounded him. Now it all fits in his head, or at least the phrase does.

"They bombarded you?" Castle asks, but he already knows the answer, regardless of how unbelievable it feels to be listening to this.

He has listened to all of this and tried to assimilate it but he has so many questions; his brain is trying to protect his belief system and not break into a panic attack. This is tough; even for him, believer of all things fantastic and magical.

At the end of the day, every other conspiracy he's run into, every story that he's enhanced for the sake of writing a book that would entertain him and also make good sales; every little piece of imagination he's poured into his work seems shortsighted now.

"We did say that they did not care about consequences; they thought that they had finally gotten rid of Mulder," Monica reminds him. "We botched their plans… So, they were pretty aggravated."

"And when we got there, Knowle Rohrer almost beat us to the punch." John completes his wife's tale.

"The man that Mulder killed? How is this possible?" Castle asks, still shell-shocked by the illogical components that are somehow a part of their reality.

"Because he was never dead; remember, it was all a set up." Doggett responds to him, frustrated at his inability to finish this man, Castle guesses. "He was _dead_ to the eyes of the unsuspecting witnesses, and the people that knew this was part of the cover up weren't going to say otherwise, but you can't kill a supersoldier—"

"Unless they come in contact with Magnetite," Castle says, making sense of the fact that Spender would hide in these ruins if he sought protection. But why? Wasn't he part of the shadow government, and as much as he can tell, so are these Supersoldiers?

"Quick to pick it up. I like that," Ally celebrates, smugly.

"Luckily Rohrer didn't know about its presence in those ruins... otherwise," Monica says, swiping a finger across her throat.

"We weren't out of the woods yet; helicopters and missiles are still pretty effective, though, for humans" John says, sobering up. "We made it out just in time. Spender did not."

If the attackers didn't mind offing this man, it means that he wasn't in their good graces any longer, and he wants to ask why but he fears that the tale would overload him even more. That, or he'll regret knowing the reason altogether. Every little piece of their story could stem into a dozen other different tales; questions that could fill thousands of pages, he's sure.

"Mulder and I separated from them," Scully gestures to Doggett and Reyes. "It was important that we didn't put them in any more danger. We couldn't afford to lose any more allies, or friends... enough people had died already."

"We went back to Washington, but John and I had already decided that we needed to make a graceful exit from the FBI." Monica gets up from her seat to give Ally a hand with a case that she is dragging to the cell Beckett and Castle had occupied earlier.

"They had taken the X-Files away from us, we were exposed, there was no scenario where we could stay in the Bureau and go back to _normalcy_ ," John rushes to help too, but Ally dismisses them both, much to the chagrin of the couple. "Gibson went into hiding, but… he didn't make it very far." The last part of the sentence is laced with a dark shadow of remorse. Castle infers that the kid didn't make it, becoming yet another victim of the many that he's sure fell and will fall because of the actions of these factions.

"We just couldn't make sense of anything," John says, sitting back at the table, while Monica bickers silently with Ally about not letting them help her, both women equally stubborn.

"Is this still 2002?" Castle asks, slightly distracted by the activity.

"May 2002," Scully confirms.

"So what happened these past ten years?" Castle watches as the whole group takes a pause, gathering their thoughts; they must be exhausted too, after unloading such a great deal of information. Hell, he tries to put himself in their shoes, as he has done throughout the whole conversation; if he were to make a speech of what his life has been so far, he'd be exhausted too, and he hasn't been out and about chasing otherworldly beings.

John looks at Monica and with a sweep of his eyes he silently signals her to sit down.

"We both retired from the FBI," Monica says, taking her seat again. "Skinner, our boss and last confidant in this mess, had assured us what we already knew. It was better to lay low; he stayed behind, he was too compromised to just leave. We kept in touch though. He retired in 2009."

"Monica and I went separate ways," John says looking at the woman, but she won't meet his eyes, a small smug smile on her lips.

"Only for a while," she says and Castle feels briefly amused that even when the world is falling apart, this, the attraction, the human factor cannot be set aside. "A year was long enough to get our heads screwed on straight."

"We figured that if it wasn't in our power to change this situation," John wraps his left arm loosely around Monica's shoulders and she leans softly into his embrace. "With Mulder and Scully in hiding, with no contact from them, the best we could do was to wait it out together."

"We tried to still be part of _the world_." John's eyes don't focus on Castle; he's immersed in the memories, and if the tone of his voice is any tell, they probably seem distant now. "We relocated to Atlanta. I started to work in private security; there were plenty of those openings after 9/11."

There's a small shrug of his shoulders and his eyes still seem unfocussed; his hand absentmindedly caresses his wife's shoulder in lazy circles.

"I honestly didn't know what to do with myself," Monica admits with a small scoff and a smile. The change of pace wasn't an easy transition for them by the look on John's face. "I found myself a position at a local college. It was a _normal_ life. We went home every night, to a heavily secured bunker that passed as your average middle-class cookie cutter house."

How do you go back to _normal_?

Monica laces her fingers through John's right hand, squeezing and caressing, and Castle cannot help but note the change transpiring in them. It's subtle, but then he realizes that there's something coming; any good writer could see the calm before the storm.

"We got married, eventually had summer cookouts with our neighbors. We visited our family, paid our taxes, went travelling…" There's a bittersweet smile on Monica's lips. "We lived life as much as we could."

"But there was always that gnawing feeling?" Castle is reading this book on the edge of his seat.

"Yes," she nods. "Four years went by… And then, I got pregnant."

There isn't a child travelling along with them.

Castle meets her eyes and they're no longer filled with the light that drew him to them. Doggett has found a spot on the table to fix his at but his hand grips Monica's strongly, rough and weathered knuckles intertwined through slender long fingers. Scully is equally lost in her thoughts, listening to a tale she probably knows well enough.

"We didn't plan for it but after a while we were fine about it, even though it seemed selfish and it heightened the worries." Monica continues strong, meeting his eyes at times, masking away in others; a purse of lips and a couple of sighs adding to her discourse. "I thought that my paranoia was just part of my motherly instinct kicking in, mixed with what we already knew. And although we had been able to carry out a life that seemed uneventful, I always had these _feelings_. But nothing happened, so I just put it to that; paranoia."

Castle nods at her to coax her on, to show her that he understands that same instinct that he's felt over the years as well. He might not be a woman, but being a single parent he's had plenty of moments where that sixth sense sparks even if unaware why.

"One night, I had this crazy craving of Taco Bell and chocolate, and John had been out on an assignment, and it was late, but you know, cravings…" She smiles, untying her ponytail, loosening her hair strands and shaking her head at the unlikely food combination. Ally stands behind Monica, shifting on her feet, shoulders slumped, and Castle can see that her breathing is labored. He can't tell if it's because of her exertion or because of the emotional charge of this conversation she's come back to.

"I knew better than to go out that late on my own," Monica continues, less casual now, "but I couldn't fight it. I got in the car, and never actually made it to the restaurant."

Scully wraps her arms tighter around her torso. John grips Monica's hand even more firm, and his arm draws her to him, protecting her as if on instinct. She doesn't hold Castle's gaze anymore, and there's anger in her voice but the sadness is stronger. Thick, and slow brewing… it changes the texture of it; but she won't allow herself tears, he notes. She's fighting.

"A group of the members of the faction ambushed me." The description that follows is mechanical; it reminds him of the many times that he's heard victims tell an experience they've struggled to overcome, burying it in a detached compartment of their minds, as if it didn't happen to them, as if they were talking about someone else. It reminds him of Beckett, when her words revisit her mother's murder and she feels distant from those facts that day. Distant, but closer than ever.

"They dragged me into an abandoned house in the outskirts, literally, dragged me through the splintered wood floors of the first floor and tied me to what once had been a spiral staircase," Monica accounts. Castle holds his breath; he finds himself unprepared to listen to this, because he can see the scene so clearly. "They started slow, asking questions that I didn't have answers for, and the angrier they got, the more they struck me with this… wrought iron poker. I didn't know if it was best to act desperate or to endure, I just knew that I never had prepared for this."

Castle can't help it; he knows that he's sporting an uneasy expression, perhaps a bilious one, because this woman protected the truth from awful and malicious excuses for human beings and she paid dearly for it. They all have.

"They were convinced that we knew where William was, where Mulder had been hiding-" Monica tries to continue but her voice starts to break, just the slightest. Scully lets out a sigh, deep and filled with regret but she won't allow touching her friend. Castle can tell that even if she didn't have any part in these events, she feels responsible.

"They called me from her phone and I just dropped everything," John continues, taking over the story; his wife just looks down, her dark hair a curtain that hides the tears that she can't fight anymore, tears that make paths down her cheeks and fall, sliding down the surface of her coat. "I just thought they'd ask for a ransom, I just thought—"

Doggett cuts himself off, swallowing down, fighting back tears as well.

"These people were not the kind of cult members that we knew; these were vicious animals, very much like hired assassins from a drug cartel." John is mad, his face is flushed and the vein in the middle of his forehead is a tell of how elevated his blood pressure must be. He seems to have taken over every ounce of violent anger that Monica somehow doesn't seem to hold. "It didn't matter that we assured them that we didn't know of their whereabouts, and I guess they didn't want to bother with waiting around for a negotiation. I could have called Skinner, try to get some bargaining information, if they would just stop- but they didn't care. They wanted to leave a message for when we could contact Mulder and Scully, proof that they weren't kidding."

This time it's Monica who grips his hand, giving him strength and bringing their joined fingers to her lips, kissing his knuckles in the softest of grazes. Her eyes are still lost in her own memories, and Castle cannot help but feel for her, because he knows this chapter of their story doesn't end well.

"They tied me down, drugged me up so that I couldn't fight back," John swallows the bile down, but his eyes fix on Castle. In this man-to-man exchange, John is a strong man that right now stands naked before him, his feelings raw. Castle knows how hard this must have been; as men they're told that they're the strong ones, the ones supposed to defend their loved ones; it's a thing of pride, ingrained in their brains and their souls. "They left me awake enough to bear witness as they beat up Monica, until they were sure that she was on the verge of dying."

John Doggett had failed her that day and he had failed himself. He had lost yet another child, one that he hadn't even met… and while Monica had survived, Castle could tell that there was no way to pick up the pieces, dust off and start over. Not when there's a looming death sentence on the planet. That child had been an unplanned but welcomed chance at normalcy that had been ripped from their grasp.

That child is something they don't get to have.

And then it hits him.

Yesterday, he woke up to a future full of possibilities with the woman he loves, a future filled with new experiences and the discovery of one another. In that future, he'd probably have new children to pamper and spoil; a girl with brown curls that would flow like her mother's as they chase each other down the beach, a boy that will teach him how it is to be the father of a son… Growing old with a wife to enjoy as they raised their progeny together, the children that he'd create with his muse, with the love of his life. The future that he had yesterday gave him grandchildren in a few years; adorable redhead babies with Alexis' blue eyes and a son-in-law to look forward to. It had new stories to tell, places to visit, justice to be obtained, new scars and new wounds, but also so much happiness. The projected path of his life that had begun once he had gotten the first item checked off his bucket list… be with Kate Beckett.

Right now, he doesn't know what his future looks like. He doesn't even know what the next hour will bring and he can feel his chest tightening because he failed to consider all of these things before Kate left a few hours ago.

Castle cards both hands through his hair, gripping the ends of it by his nape, forceful enough to cause some pain. He can't lose it now, he has to block this worry from himself; he has to trust her to come back to him. This can't be how it ends.

Long moments of silence go by, and John and Monica's hands find ways to comfort each other tenderly; her hand on his knee, his on her hair, massaging her scalp through her tresses, her head on his shoulder… lost in the thoughts and memories. Ally doesn't face them anymore; her back is to them, guarding herself. Each person in the room is grieving for everyone's wounds.

"I'm so sorry…" Castle attempts.

"There's nothing to be sorry about; seems like a lifetime ago anyways," Monica says, clearing her throat, but he is sorry. He's sorry that there's such vile injustice in the world and that there's not enough fairness.

"After that we decided that hiding in plain sight was not an option," John continues, his voice steady after he clears his throat and his breathing calmer having regained some control over himself. "We retreated to the mountains, didn't give an explanation to anyone but Skinner, we didn't share our location, just in case, and… disappeared."

And just like in his story, it seems that with that retreat, they can now take a deep breath. The thick of their story has been unloaded.

John and Monica weren't what the faction wanted, and he knew already by their hit on the Van de Kamps that these are not people you want to mess with, but two thoughts assault him: one, what made the faction turn into this vengeful and merciless organization? Did their own desperation to achieve their objectives turn them into these sadistic ways? It's one thing to take down players in the game, quite another to do it this way.

The second thought that floods his mind is the most important one to him; now that he's involved, now that they're involved, will they ever not be? Will this association haunt Beckett and he after all is said and done? What happens December 23rd?

"We were more _successful_ hiding in plain sight after we were done running." Scully begins, breaking through the tension. "I thought that, giving in to the wait, for whatever was to come, was better than running until exhaustion. Mulder agreed, but the truth is that he had other motives. He couldn't avoid trying to watch over William so he played along with my request. I became a neurologist, and Mulder… wrote. Staying put gave him the advantage to watch over our son, to be _on call_ whenever needed, even though I was ignorant to all of this."

Scully's eye rise to his and the roll they give tell him that she wasn't happy about that at all.

"We thought we'd been sly enough, but we were always under their eye," she laments.

"The faction?" Castle asks.

"The FBI," Scully says, shaking her head. "In early 2008, we were called in to consult on a case – a missing agent."

"The shadow government?" Castle anticipates.

"Actually no," Scully negates again and Castle is briefly amused at his two strikes in this guessing game. "It was your straight forward crazy, run of the mill, unexplainable Frankenstein phenomena."

He likes her dry humor; it breaks the gravity of it all.

"After everything was said and done though, we had been out and exposed, and proven that we _really_ were doing a piss poor job at hiding," Scully says, not really going into many details and Castle is almost grateful at the abbreviation. "Skinner filled us in on what had happened to John and Monica. Mulder decided to come clean about William… and Ally."

So this is when the girl comes in. Scully looks at her, signaling her to add up to the narration and Ally takes a seat by her side.

"I had been in communication with Mulder for quite some time; Internet, you know?" Ally begins, hugging a knee to her chest and resting her chin on top of it. Her posture is defiant as always. "I was looking for someone that would understand what I was going through and he was looking for someone… that had inside information about the faction."

Castle takes a deep breath and tries to mask the instinctual fears that flood him. She was part of this faction; what's to tell them that she's not going to betray them? How can they trust her like this? Whatever happened to _trust no one_?

"Jeez. Calm down, I'm not going to kill you, and no, I'm not infiltrating them…" Ally blurts as if she was indeed hurting by the sheer power of his fears. "Woah, you really think pretty fast. Stop that, it hurts."

Then it dawns on him; she's like William. It makes sense that she was having such a hard time listening to the recall of their stories just now. If he was terribly affected by listening to their words, it has to be much more of a torture to listen to their thoughts, to see what their eyes saw, maybe to feel whatever pain, anger and fear they experienced.

"Sorry," Castle says, sympathetic.

"It's okay," she responds, rubbing her temples, "I'm okay." And Castle wonders if she's referring to his pity over what her faculties must allow.

"I was just twelve when they sought me out," Ally explains. "I had been in between and continued to be in between foster homes, running away, scared…" She shifts her posture in her seat, leaning forward. "You see I'm not a _natural_ , like William. I was made; cooked up in a little Petri dish."

"Once I joined the faction, it was clear that their purposes weren't to just welcome me in," Ally recalls. "I was trapped in another nightmare; they used me for whatever poaching they could manage but I was allowed to play online, from time to time. It was my prize for being good for their cause... For the leader. Little did they know that I had found what they'd been looking for."

Castle tries to police his thoughts and opinions over the girl and she smiles. It's not fair, he thinks. But at the same time he's glad that he can honestly say that even in his mind, he hasn't had a moment to doubt them, but only to be worried about their motivations behind sharing this story so openly, about the unfairness of it all. He feels nothing but empathy for them.

"Call it a sixth sense or whatever you want, maybe it was part of my _powers_ , but even when Mulder had been so careful, even with our communication being so distant," Ally tells him, a smile full of conviction meets him, full of appreciation. "I knew I belonged under his wing, I guess, and everything made sense when we met."

Scully puts a hand on her shoulder and the women share a shy smile. Have they grown into a mother-daughter relationship, Castle wonders, or is it more of a sisterhood? There's definitely care behind their gestures, a kindness that's different from the exchanges he's seen with the other two members of this team.

"So you escaped?" Castle asks.

"Yes."

"Just like that?" Castle cannot help his incredulous stab and she snickers.

"Well," she says, not meeting his eyes. "Let's just say that they were a few guys short in the wake of my… escape."

"Seventeen fatalities and a crash in the middle of the desert isn't _just a few_ , Ally," John scoffs.

"You say potato… I say two automatic X-9's," Ally says nonchalantly, and Castle cannot help the Lara Croft comparison that formulates in his head. She looks at him and winks, "I probably have better aim than she does."

"In my time with the faction, I learned that they wanted William, among other reasons, because he holds the key to our survival," Ally continues, bringing the conversation back to the problem at hand. "Whoever holds that key, owns the future, a future that we must fight. This is why those maps are so important. He can't belong to anyone but himself. The faction's plans are far from being humanitarian."

The intensity in her eyes tells him that there's far more to their plans that she doesn't dare to share.

"By Fall of 2008, we had set up to find Monica and John," Scully says, regaining control of the conversation. "They hadn't given Skinner any information about their specific location-"

"We meant to be in hiding after all," John rebukes at Scully's reprimand; she just nods and continues. "We decided that we needed to pick up the pieces of our family, we couldn't be apart anymore."

"Mulder showed up at our cabin one afternoon with Ally and Scully in tow, I almost blew his head off with my rifle," John remembers and there's a funny fondness to his tone. Monica smiles for the first time in a while as he continues with the tale. "After all the small talk and some hard liquor, it was agreed that we needed to take action, but we lacked preparation. While 2009 rolled in and out, we dug into everything there was to know about William, the new shadow government, the faction, the different casts of aliens that are invading, even the renegade groups that have been preparing for this."

"We made preparations for our families, too, as much as we could…" Monica added, solemn.

"Mulder and I started contacting the Van De Kamps," Scully says, and the lines that form on her forehead speak volumes. "It wasn't easy at first, but we managed. The plan was to gradually become a sort of satellite protection to them, while still keeping some distance. We didn't know how William was to become such a key player; everything was still so theoretical; nothing was laid out in practical terms."

If there was ever something to say about shared custody, Castle thinks. Add to the mix that your kid is the next messiah; it makes every squabble about shared holidays and alimony seem to be something completely ridiculous.

"We were really in the dark, until the Van de Kamps showed us the drawings," Scully reveals, with a snicker at the curious details of her son. "Up until that moment they thought they were just a geometrical fixation."

"What was it about them that told you that they were important in this equation?" Castle asks, curious about her thought process.

"Well, for one, they were familiar to me, I couldn't read them, but I had seen some of those symbols on a crashed ship in Africa and in the artifact that Comer had with him in 2002. We knew they had a meaning, and then William confirmed it in his own way, telling us stories of the _travels of his mind,_ " Scully explains, and Castle wonders how a kid could cope with this type of life, how does he make sense of these dynamics? "We knew it was time. We had to get on the road. It was a rash decision, to be so directly involved... but we had to do it."

"So early 2010?" Castle asks, trying to keep the timeline straight.

"Second week of March, actually," Ally clarifies, with a sarcastic remark. "Wyoming is lovely that time of the year… lots of snow."

She's a smartass and Castle appreciates that quite a lot.

"We've been dodging close calls ever since; until the picture became clearer," Scully says, "until William's role was revealed to us."

He will lead them, Castle figures. That's what it all means to him.

"The main and only objective of anyone wanting to get a hold of William is to control the knowledge that he holds," Scully observes; her explanation to the point and almost clinical. "Because that means they'd have a way to control the one and only thing that renders all alien races powerless."

"Magnetite." Castle is marveled at the complexity of this silent war. The mineral is the answer to the survival of the human race, and he can already see how whoever holds the supply will call all the shots.

"The shadow government wants to weaponize it against their alien enemies, and the faction wants to avoid the exploitation so they can protect the Alien advent," Ally confirms and it makes sense. Even if this compound is dangerous to the aliens within each side, it's better to have control of the one thing that will cause your own demise. Like Superman, controlling Kryptonite.

"If we can't avoid this deadline, if we're not out of here by end of day on the 22nd," Monica stresses, "we'll be trapped and they won't stop until they can get William to help them fulfill their needs."

"That leaves Beckett and Mulder just a few hours to figure this out," Castle points out, definitely alarmed.

"Yeah," Scully confirms and her face tells him that she's totally aware of their dire situation. "And right now, all we can do is wait, be ready until they give us a go."

"But if this doomsday scenario is already confirmed, if the alien invasion is unstoppable, why continue fighting? Why not give them the information they need and step out of the equation?" Castle asks, still doubting that any of their plans could have any success.

"Because I've seen it in William's eyes. There may not be a version of this story where humanity comes out unharmed, but why should we give up?" Scully urges and there's a fire in her eyes that's quite captivating. "Mr. Castle, the last thing that you should lose… is hope."

Castle nods in silent agreement as Scully gets up from her seat. William cannot belong to any side, and they can't make a deal with any faction, because it will never be over. There will always be the knowledge that he once held the information and who's to say that's all there is to it?

"I'm going to check on William; pick up the rest of our setup and get ready to go," Scully commands. "I'm sure we'll be hearing from Mulder and Beckett in a few."

"Anything I can do to help?" Castle offers as the rest get up and resume their activities.

"Nah, we got it covered," Ally says, grabbing him from an arm and ushering him to the side. "You should catch a cat nap; I need you in top shape. You'll be riding shot gun with me."

Castle is afraid to ask. He has yet to hear what the details of the second part of their agreement are; the part that will get him closer to the end of this ordeal… if there's ever an end.

"I'm not sure yet if I want to know or not about the next part of this plan," he confesses, shaking his head and following her into the room he was held in before.

"Don't worry." Ally signals to a cot she must have set up for him. So that's what she was doing… He smiles at her, thankful, and it strikes him that she thinks of everything. They all seem to trust her very much and by the looks of it, she likes living on the edge. Her attitude says it all. She looks at him snickering and he berates himself, remembering that there are no secrets in her presence. "I'll give you an hour, have a nice nap… and yes, later, hanging out with me will get very exciting."

Ally turns towards the door as he sits on the makeshift bed with a groan. He's tired; his brain is overworked and riled up with the amount of information that he's been processing for the past few hours. He's overcome with the meaning of it all, and in some way he's questioning why they've shared so much with him. He knows he was the one that wanted to know, he knows he dug for it, but he received so much more than he had hoped for. So much that he almost feels like he's lived these moments with them… but why?

"Can I ask you a question?" He says, stopping her before she exits.

She comes back to him, calmly, and sits on the chair by the cot.

"You already did," Ally says, scratching her face, she's tired as well. "Why do people tell stories, Castle?"

The question throws him off a little.

"To entertain? To let people step away from their otherwise dull realities?" He chances.

"Yes, but also to share, educate," Ally argues, and then she adds, "and to preserve that knowledge, to ensure that it won't get lost."

She gets up from her seat, folding the chair and taking it with her, leaving him with a realization she already knows he's made. He's not there to just listen to a story. He's filled with a purpose now, whether he wants it or not.

If they don't make it out, if _they_ manage to silence them, at least there will be someone to guard the knowledge.


	17. Chapter 17

12th PRECINCT – MANHATTAN, NY

DEC. 21ST, 2012 – 10 A.M.

"I trust that Officer Hastings has assured you by now that our whole precinct is working to bring your nephew back to us." Gates begins her interview, sitting across a serious Diana Topher.

The brunette seems very on edge under her controlled mask; she isn't fooling the experienced captain. Gates understands that, and while she knows that the situation at hand might be triggering this response from the woman, Agent Miller's jaw is contracting more than she expects from the intense man. He's been following them; maybe he's more compromised than he would like to admit.

Dealing with family members when one becomes part of law enforcement isn't always a requirement; maybe facing this facet of his work comes hard after such a set back, seeing the effects of their failure to stop the venom of society.

But something is off about this.

"Yes, she was _very_ reassuring about it," Diana responds, her voice controlled, regarding the young officer with a leer that doesn't escape the seasoned Victoria Gates. Something transpired between the two of them and she will smite the wannabe detective if she ruined any chance to get new information from the Van de Kamps' next of kin.

"The good news is that we've had a couple of very positive developments while you talked," Gates continues, reassuring and informing the woman of the new facts at hand. "Agent Miller has joined our investigation and Detective Beckett has returned as well, thanks to his diligence. The bad news is that your nephew and our civilian investigator, Richard Castle, are still captive."

The FBI agent squirms on the seat he's occupied, his hands clasped tight and eyes fixated on the woman before them.

"What does that mean in terms of bringing William back?" Diana asks, focusing on the man this time, his demeanor definitely drawing her attention. "I thought that this detective was with them."

"She was, but –" Gates begins to clarify only to be cut off almost immediately by the man by her side.

"I'm afraid that we can't share all the details about how Detective Beckett is not captive anymore," he explains, matter-of-factly, his tone dry as a bone. Whatever contempt he's infused in his voice seems to be hoisted tight. "I'm sure you understand that we have to withhold some information for the sake of William's wellbeing."

"Of course, I understand," Diana smiles sadly, almost mechanical about it, and there's something that makes Gates' senses stand on edge. "I wouldn't want to meddle in your efforts in any way, but I feel—"

The woman takes a pause, leaning back in the armchair and this time she sees it; there's something that she's definitely hiding behind her schooled features. This worries Victoria Gates, because she already feels that her position is more compromised than she can be comfortable with.

"Actually… Can I be honest with you, Captain Gates?" Diana queries, shifting the vibe of the conversation and showing a slightly less than perfect attitude.

"Mrs. Topher, whatever you share with us will be kept very close to vest; it is in our best interest that everything remains confidential, at least until the operation is complete." Gates assures her, sternly. If this woman is about to unveil whatever it is that she's withholding, she needs to make her feel confident that those threats that she might fear won't get in the way of their investigation and of their rescue.

"Rehashing my relatives' history just now with Officer Hastings, I am now concerned that this is some scheme by the members of this _cult_ that Jane used to belong to," Diana informs Gates; the woman's bony hands gesture and accentuate every word and the captain takes note of it; the histrionics tell her that she aims to be in charge. "They were very strict and didn't appreciate runaways. They like to enforce their honor system, in a manner of speaking; it wouldn't surprise me that they could be involved."

Agent Miller shuffles beside her, almost distracting, and she wonders why is it that the man hasn't even tried to take part in the conversation.

"How so?" Gates continues addressing Diana's confession. "Did they ever show any signs of violent behavior or threaten them in any way?"

If these folks are so ruthless and determined to obtain what they want, to terrorize the city, maybe she knows some small detail that might help their situation; potentially, the lives of millions of people rest on whatever smidge of information she can gather. She's still irked by Miller's demeanor, though. His eyes are piercing through the brunette's, and his own features are severe. You'd think he'd be more empathetic, seeing that he could get some valuable lead from this woman, but he's not budging one inch.

"I really never knew the particulars per se, but I do know that she feared them." Diana laments and her voice almost hides the rawness. "It is just such a terrible thing to happen. I'm trying to stay positive but, first my husband, then Jane and George… I don't want William to be the next one on the list."

The woman catches a stray tear that escapes her eye and looks away from them. She's tough and struggling with the assault of vulnerability, but still, something else gnaws at Gates.

"We're sure that this cannot be easy for you, Mrs. Topher." Gates startles, hearing the FBI agent's male voice trying to ease the Van de Kamp's relative. "But believe us when we tell you that we're working hard to bring him back to the hands of his loved ones."

He leans in toward Mrs. Topher, but still keeping a safe distance between them; his tone is a little too velvety, almost smug. It's then that Victoria's eyes catch Officer Hastings' posture just to the side of them. She's tense, and she has a questionable expression that she has never seen on the young woman's features.

"We'll make sure to look into this lead, Ma'am." Gates says, bringing her attention back to the conversation. "In the mean time, I understand that you're a local, so I ask you to hang on tight, and we'll make sure to keep you informed of any new developments."

Gates gets up from her seat, finding the conversation reaching its end and wanting to address her team as soon as possible. If the fact that the Van de Kamps were part of a cult is a known and confirmed fact, it can't be too long until Castle and William are in greater risk. It can't be too long until they're all at risk. They have to get going.

She takes one of her business cards out the pocket of her blazer and scribbles her cell phone number on the white cardstock.

"If you can think of anything else you might find useful, this is my card." Diana takes it, nodding in agreement and rising from her seat as well. "Agent Miller?"

Gates fixes him with a look, a sign that the interview is over, but the man doesn't take the hint, and he doesn't budge.

"I'll be right out, Captain," he says, not even meeting her eyes. "I'll just grab Mrs. Topher's contact information while I have her here."

_Suit yourself_ , she thinks. Gates doesn't feel alright with backing into this conversation again because it would seem like he's the one calling the shots, and in reality he is… but what if he's just shutting her out to get his own interrogation time? Does he feel that this woman hides something else as well?

"We'll reconvene later," she proposes, composed, but he's not really minding her comment. "Mrs. Topher, when you're done, Officer Hastings will show you out. We'll be in touch. I'm very sorry for your loss."

She shakes hands with Diana and regards the Agent one last time before she exits the room with Hastings in tow. She wants to get going; the longer they take, the harder it will become to find clues and trace that leads them to this menace.

"Captain Gates," Ann addresses her once they're out of the room, sheepishly, barely above a whisper. "May I have a word?"

"Not now, Hastings," the higher ranked woman dismisses her as they walks across the bullpen and toward her office. "We'll have time later to discuss your performance, but for now—"

Ann interrupts her with a shy expression, a show of the respect she feels for the woman before her.

"No, Sir. It's not about that." They've reached Gates' office by now. Ann follows her in and closes the door behind her. "I mean… Sir… Yes, I would like to discuss my promotion – later - but this _is_ about the case."

"What's worrying you, Hastings?" Gates asks, taking a seat behind her desk "I saw you in there. Is there something going on? An odd sock?"

Gates fixes her gaze on her, inquisitive and letting the young woman decide if she wants to come clean about her time with the woman in the interrogation room. Ann approaches the desk, checking through the blinds briefly for onlookers, as her eyes scan the 4th floor that's bustling with action.

"That's the thing, Sir," Hastings pauses and looks her in the eye. "How do you discriminate 'Odd' from 'Extra Odd'?"

* * *

"This is a nice stunt you're pulling. The tear? That was an _endearing_ touch." Mulder says between gritted teeth, the sarcasm bleeding out of every pore. He cannot believe that he's standing in front of this woman.

There's just so much history between them; so much pain and wrath, hate – so much hate… but then there's that part of him that once loved her. As a friend, as a partner, as a lover... as the person that had once fought many battles by his side, and understood his madness; back when his quest was driven by the sole ambition of knowledge, and not by his need to fight the future.

She had been his equal, until she made sure to obliterate the side of him that admired her overwhelming and powerful intellect; betrayal had seeped through every aspect of their lives, mostly on her part. He stands in front of her, fists clenching, hanging from arms that quiver with muscles so tense that they ripple unconsciously. Her eyes don't stray away from his, and he cannot bear it anymore.

Mulder cards a hand through his hair, and down his face, as if trying to wipe the anger from his features, trying to calm himself down, bite back the plethora of insults that he has reserved over the years for her; jotted away on a list that became longer each time he had discovered another one of her deceits. Alas, this is not the place and he can't afford the time.

"How long has it been? Fourteen years now?" He finally asks, but he doesn't intend to clarify, he just wants to shove the statement in her face.

"Almost," Diana responds, calmer and so much more in control than he is. "Age suits you well, Fox."

There it is, that sultriness to her to her voice that always did him in, but now makes him nauseous. She always had the charm of a tigress in heat; every move calculated, looks and touches that would make him waver, her influence so strong that it would even make him doubt his own resolve when trying to find the truth. She knew, she always knew how to push the right buttons.

"I wish I could say the same about you," Mulder says, and he knows it's a cheap shot but the woman before him doesn't match what in his head should be her natural appearance.

"Ouch, do I look that weathered?" Diana counters, a wicked smirk drawn on her lips.

"Actually, it is the complete lack of _weather_ that is remarkable," Mulder gestures at her, a sweeping hand that could in any other occasion adorn a compliment. To the inexperienced onlooker it might seem like it is, but what Mulder sees before him lacks logic upon logic.

Not only is she supposed to be dead, but if she managed to survive, she should look like those fourteen years had indeed gone through her. Instead, she doesn't look one day older than the last time he saw her. Sure, her hairstyle is different; she wears clothes to fit her part and is fashionably current. But it's her, Diana Fowley.

_Scully is going to love this… Not_ , he thinks.

"There's no way that this is just the result of good organic food and botox," he defies sarcastically, and perhaps it's a useless comment because he already knows the answer.

"Yeah, once you join the _life style_ …" Diana takes a gander at her own presence; a woman of forty that has been alive for fifty-four, "things like aging are no longer on your dance card."

Mulder side-glances at the activity outside; no one is paying attention to them. But he probably only has a few minutes before Beckett and company become suspicious that he's carried on this conversation for too long; they'll demand details, he'll have to make up facts that could come to bite him in the ass. He'd better speed this up.

"Were you…" Mulder begins. Was she a _super soldier?_ That's what he means to ask but he can't even utter the words.

"When I _died_?" Her head tilting lends a softness to her that he wants to avoid.

"Yes." Mulder breathes out.

"No, they brought me back… I guess." Diana explains and she takes a seat back on the faux leather armchair. "They saved my life by… condemning me to live."

Her hands clasp around her crossed knees. Her fingers are still as slender as he remembers them; hands pale and joints bony.

"Did _he_ do it?" Mulder asks, referring to the man that made his life a living hell… ironic that this was the man that also gave him life.

Some father he was… but then he never did fill that place in his life. His real father had been the man that died in the hands of a coward rat, the man that had fought for his family amid multiple dozen mistakes he had made under the guise of the greater good. William Mulder had been his father; Spender was the man that played him like a mouse in a labyrinth.

"No," Diana responds after a while, probably allowing herself some time to figure out what version of the truth she wants to provide, probably just so that he can simmer in the possibility of it actually being what had happened. "The _new_ administration did."

"Is that what we're calling _it_ these days?" Mulder scoffs at the name that they've given to a corrupt group of men that have a knack at playing with people's fates.

"They don't really have a name, though Spender did like to call them the _Shadow Government_ ," Diana reminisces, as if she missed the toxic man.

"Yeah, I remember," Mulder mutters, but the question is still unanswered. Who is she? _What is she?_ "So what gives?"

She leans back, taking a deep breath, and fixing her brown eyes on a spot on the wall, as if digging into the barrels of her mind were a painful, or even a shameful task.

"Back when I _died,_ I did so because I helped you," Diana begins, returning her gaze to him. "I sent that key card to Scully so that you could escape, so that you could have a chance at surviving, at making this right."

He braces his hands on his hips, forceful, his fingers digging in the jut of his bones, trying hard to contain himself. She's right; she did give her life in exchange for his, so that he could escape CSM's claws. If it hadn't been for her and Scully, he would have probably died that day.

"I still cared for you, Fox," she says, just above a whisper, her emotion becoming evident. But she pulls it back, reeling her feelings back in, clearing her throat to sober herself up. "Believe it or not, I still do."

He takes a seat again, feeling tired, the adrenaline in his system taking a toll with its after effects. He wasn't ready for an emotional battle today; he already had enough on his plate. He can't deny that back in the day, when Scully showed up at his door and told him that she had been found dead, he had been filled with regret. Deep seated feelings that he could have done something to turn her around, to make her see that she couldn't be part of that side of life, of that side of the battle; he knew that once there was something good in her. He needed to believe that because he had once loved the way she filled his life.

But she had _died_ and then things came into perspective. He'd almost died, again. He'd almost lost the one person that is his one in five billion…well, now closer to seven. Diana had left his life and in some way it had been liberation.

Scully and he had learned after those horrible days that their lives were a nuisance. That any confirmation of weakness would be their demise, and they already had a laundry list of weak spots on them.

They played the game of fools for the audience, but they stopped playing games between themselves. At the end of the day or in the wee hours before dawn, she would find the way to his doorstep and enter his bed, or he would sneak into her apartment and quietly lie by her side; she would always know it was him entering her apartment and not some wacko out to get her… though that happened, the one time. It still puzzled him that she could identify him just by the way his steps grazed deftly over her hardwood floors, or by the ruffle of his clothes landing by the foot of her bed as he climbed in next to her and sought her warmth. In those moments, it had only been them in the universe.

They still had an audience they would learn afterwards, and after some time had passed, he was finally allowed to make a joke about how he wishes that they enjoyed the show… because he sure did. What he probably enjoyed the most though was that it wasn't a show, it had finally been real.

It had never been better between them, and even today… nothing has changed. He doesn't need Diana back in his life… and yet here she is.

"The truth is that I engaged in a big _faux pas_ by helping you," she confesses and he already knew that. Scully had lamented Diana's death but only because she wanted to be empathetic, still she considered her enemy in so many ways, _their enemy._ "Spender didn't like it, and neither did his allies, but he wasn't the one holding all the cards. I learned that when… I came back."

"When you came back?" Mulder coaxes her to continue.

"When I got shot, Mulder, by Spender's people," Diana explains between weary exhales. There's pain behind her eyes; this _state of life_ cannot be a walk in the park. How does logic even apply to what she's become now? "I knew that _that_ was it; people say that you see your life flash before your eyes," Hers shift away from him, as if she's reliving those last moments when she waited Death to take her away. "Instead, I just was perturbed by how silent everything turned in just a few seconds…"

"Diana—" he begins, regretful all of a sudden. After he was out of her life… was there anyone that ever desired to be by her side?

"You want to know what happened, Fox?" Diana says, cutting him off with a harsh hiss. "You hear my story, then."

She swallows the bile that has risen, a cleansing breath and then she continues.

"There weren't any happy memories of my life. I kept waiting for them to come, and all I got was some dull ache that grew until it numbed me with its venom." Diana states, and her choice of words strikes him because they had been chosen with such accuracy. Venom is everything she had as of late.

"I felt the pull of those strings, and I let it come," she narrates, her eyes lost in the floor tile. "I didn't fight back; I wanted death to take me. But it all seemed like a dream. When I opened my eyes and found myself at their mercy…" Diana drifts off, the gravity of this moment of the story, of this memory, hanging heavy between them.

"Whom?" Mulder asks.

"The new administration," Diana confirms to him. "They were planning their take over, to pull the rug from under Spender's feet. And they needed me… we both had cases against that S.O.B. They gave me the _gift of life_ , I gave them information _._ "

Nothing has changed; she had just found herself a _better_ boss. Maybe she didn't really have a soul, maybe he was just being hopeful back then.

"So this is it? They brought you back so you would work for them now?" Mulder asks, incredulous.

"Is not that simple," Diana shakes her head and checks her watch.

"I think we have enough time for you to try to explain it to me," Mulder retorts, reacting to her body language. "What do you want, Diana? Do you want to put my son under their claws? Is that it?"

"Fox," She calls him by his first name and it sounds so strange; an omen of what he's about to hear from this woman. "You may have fought all these years against it, but you know perfectly well that William's role in this war is far more important than keeping your American dream."

His cheeks start to shake involuntarily. He can feel his blood pressure climbing and making him lightheaded. He's already put enough blame on himself for the entire situation, including being careless enough to bring William into the world to become this coveted target.

But he loves his son, with every part of him; all the little things that he has learned about William while hiding behind the surveillance, the only way he got to have a glimpse into his life. And the last couple of hours when he was able to hug William's stress away, for those precious moments, he was a father in the eyes of his son.

Her accusation only makes his blood boil at the injustice, at the suggestion that his motivation is selfish; in reality he has lived a life where almost everything has been taken away from him. He can't enjoy tranquility, or freedom, not even the ambition of living a "normal" life. For the many times that the world has had it against him, it would seem as if he didn't deserve to live, as if his loved ones didn't deserve to breathe.

"Is that what you think this is? Because I seem to recall that you were the one bent up on making me believe that there was such a chance," Mulder reminds her of that delirious moment when she had wanted him to live a fantasy life with her, forget about The X-Files, forget about Scully and become another part of that conspiracy of devils that dealt with people's lives like currency.

"You can't hold me accountable for things that happened so many years ago." She fights back and he knows she's right. What's that worth anymore? "This is different, Fox. The lives of so many depend on William's strategic abilities. You know this better than me."

The question is which option is the true altruistic one, the one that will warrant the success of the greater good, of peace.

"You have him, don't you?" She asks out of the blue.

Mulder could deny it, he probably could, but he rushes to consider the consequences. Most likely, she already knows what has happened. Most likely they're already zeroing in on them and the sense of panic that settled in his bones at the sight of her now becomes painful as the possibilities appear in front of his eyes.

What if he's exposed them all by not considering that the shadow government could be smarter and closer than he thought? Mulder seethes as he realizes that he's underestimated the powers of these people. Especially when they must be with all guns drawn as the looming date approaches.

Diana leans towards him, bracing her elbows on her knees, reaching out to him, but he keeps his distance. She doesn't like it; the lines on her forehead crease the skin and the pout… he's seen that pout many times, but he's not going to give her the pleasure of dragging him back to her web again. She takes in a frustrated breath and expels an equally exasperated sigh.

"What would you rather have, Fox?" She asks finally after what seemed like hours as he mulled and berated himself for being so transparent to her. "What would you choose? For a crazy and corrupt cult to get their hands on him like they almost did? Or to sacrifice some freedoms but have the guarantee that at least he will be alive and well?"

"You say that as if the hunt for him would ever cease," Mulder retorts, frustrated.

"I'm well aware of that. That is why I'm offering you this escape route," Diana explains, and it almost sounds like a plea coming out of her. Almost. "If you stop being so stubborn, if you join us, it could be a lot better than keep running against the storm."

"This is not an _escape route_ , Diana," he corrects her, angry and disbelieving any sort of good willed purpose.

_Is she expecting him to just hand over his son to her?_

"This is surrendering William to them; this is handing the most valuable part of my life over on a silver platter to a group of poachers and vultures!"

He can see that she understands his fears, that he has plenty of reasons to account for why he could never trust them. Gibson Praise is one those reasons, Emily Sim, another one, and with them, the thousands of other victims of their relentless experiments.

"The way I see it, we can truly escape your grasp, and we can survive," Mulder argues, stubbornly. He doesn't allow himself the luxury of letting her know that he could see her offering as a possibility.

"And then what, have it loom over your heads that you could have helped, but instead you chose to hole up like a coward?" Diana argues back at him. She always knew how to disarm him with his own logic and purpose, with the very same elements of his principles thrown back at him. He hates this about her, that regardless of her motivations, she knows how to play with the strings of his very being.

He hates it, because she's right. He knows that there's a whole part of this plan that has no winners. Regardless of what they do, regardless of the side they choose, so many people will die. Keeping William to themselves would be to not take part in either side but to go on their own… and that has seemed very selfish at times.

They've talked about it, many times. They've never found an answer that makes them satisfied.

"Surrendering would mean giving them the power to do _business_ as they please," Mulder says and that's his biggest fear. That he would lose all control over the situation and have no way of stopping the avalanche once it unfolds. "William and our lives aren't merchandise up for bargain."

"Yes, I realize that," she responds, reassuringly lacing her voice with understanding. "But at the end of the day the shadow government still negotiates, the humans are still in the picture… the other scenario obliterates us."

While he hasn't been prone to even open the door to that dark place, he does know that, if anything, the shadow government has never allowed themselves to be out of the picture. They've outsmarted the alien races that wanted to make fools out of them at times, developing vaccines and going on tangents. But sometimes they manage to fail in amazing ways; they fail to realize that they're still the weaker part of this equation.

"I don't need to tell you that if the cult - the faction - were to succeed, that's the end of the human race having any say about what's to become of this planet." The words hang heavy the second that they leave her lips. "At the end of the day, you know very well that they're on to you."

He knows she's right. They've only allowed this cat and mouse game for the sake of letting the situation unfold until it was the right time to get involved. Mulder has felt their presence every now and then; especially since 2008. It had been a mistake to get involved in that case.

"Fox, their claws go further than the States," she confirms, and he's not naïve enough to not know that. "If you think that by running away you won't have to face either side, you're mistaken."

He follows her movements as she gets up and glances at the activity outside, straightening her jacket and turning back to him.

"The only difference is that as shadowy as this new secret alliance is, you know where it resides. The cult, very much like their endeavors, is unpredictable, dangerous and even darker in their resolve."

She holds for a moment, and he knows that she's expecting some kind of response from him. The silence hangs thick like molasses and the anger that had flowed through his veins had mixed and diluted with his sudden feeling of hopelessness. He is struggling to damper it down, to drown it with his own convictions. But he can't just disregard everything that she has brought up because it spins their plans, their preparedness, in a new direction.

Diana grabs her purse and approaches him, but he stills her when he speaks again.

"I know where they are," Mulder says without meeting her eyes, hands clasped tight behind his neck, gripping on the bone and flesh until the pressure burns. "The cult, I know where they are."

"What?" Diana seems surprised at his sudden revelation.

"We're planning an ambush, the NYPD and us; we're going to attack them tonight." Mulder informs her.

"Why are you telling me this?" Diana seems suspicious of his intentions. "I know you, you're up to something."

He gets up from his seat, finally allowing her some closeness, and examines her eyes; they're still very much human, they're still very much Diana's.

"I'm up to nothing. I want them out of the picture, I want Curtis Weaver gone," Mulder responds. "And believe it or not, I think that we owe George and Jane some kind of justice. You know very well that the legal system will have no place in this quarrel."

She crosses her arms across her chest, calling his bluff.

"Again, what's your point?" Diana asks, her eyebrow climbing up her forehead, and he knows she's surprised, with good reason.

Despite this being a manipulation that she's probably going to smell a mile away, chances are that she'll believe him… because it's the truth

"You're right. I'm tired of running, Diana. I want to be a family," Mulder responds.

"With Scully…" Diana completes and he hopes that this grudge is long gone, that jealousy is a thing of the past, that this doesn't become a larger sore spot than it already is.

"Yes," Mulder confirms. "She's the mother of my son, she is…"

"I get it, no need to explain." She shakes her head and looks away.

He has to take this opportunity, because the plan is already drawing up in his head. Mulder takes a deep breath as he wills his brain to make sense of an adjustment that needs to be done; a risky adjustment perhaps, but maybe this is a golden opportunity in disguise.

"If I make a deal with you, can you assure us that we'll be together? Would you make sure that we're never pulled apart?" He presses, and now it's his time to plea.

"You know I can't promise you that, but being that you still hold the cards, you have plenty of negotiation tools in your favor." Diana suggests, and for a minute this feels like old times, when they blatantly knew they were on opposite sides of the table but she was clueing him in, giving him that last piece of the puzzle that he had to fit together.

"I'm going to need your help." He won't allow himself to smile back at her when she hears him say the words. Instead, he wills himself to keep a poised expression that won't give away that he's laying out a plan.

"I know," Diana nods.

He nods back and he feels her fingers intertwine with his.

In the past, his heartbeat would have drummed wild throughout his body at the meaning and effect that such contact inflicted to each of his senses. Right now though, his heart beats equally wild because he might have found a way to turn this around. Selfish, be damned. He'll be the one calling all the shots by the end of this.


	18. Chapter 18

"How are you doing?" Ryan's concern is sincere, just like the look in his eyes. Kate's overwhelmed sometimes with how much he cares. Javier would often compare him to a girl, too much _in touch_ with his feminine side, but in reality, not even Esposito would want his partner to be any other way.

"I'm fine," her voice is a giveaway, the shallow wording another; she's far from being _fine_ , very far… so she concedes.

"I'll be okay."

Beckett tucks a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear, buying herself time, sorting through the myriad of possibilities when it comes to breaking the news to her brothers in arms. No point in delaying, she thinks; the price behind doubting their understanding runs too high these days.

Two pairs of expectant eyes zero in on her, and the empty and dark observation room seems so fitting; this is where they rationalize through the eyes of others, standing on the sidelines, but inherently being part of it all. It kind of feels this way, but then it doesn't.

She's bound to the tune that Mulder wants to play, to his plan and his strategy. She's a team player, but she's not used to not being the absolute lead anymore. She's not okay with being this vulnerable, but then again, they are the ones she can allow to see her weak, because they can so easily see through her, because they won't allow her to fall, because she owes them and they owe her. It's not a matter of debt; it's a matter of care.

"Espo, how close are you to your special ops buddies…?" She begins, the clearing of her throat echoing more than she thought it would. "And, I'm talking the ones that can color outside the lines."

"I have a few guys, but –" Dark eyes and furrowed brows adorn his confusion and who can blame him?

"Good 'cause we're going to need them," Beckett cuts him off; arms laid protectively across her chest, as if to keep her heart from leaping out as it beats at two hundred miles per hour.

"Okay, okay, okay… hold on just one sec, girl. Before you start planning some sort of _Desert Storm_ , and you know we'll go to hell and back with ya, I don't know about Ryan, but I'm a little lost," Esposito tries, and this gentle side of him exists beyond the macho attitude he gives away sometimes. It breaks her heart that she has to drag them into this, but she definitely feels better about being as honest as she can be with them. If they're bound to hell, like he says, at least she won't feel like she betrayed them… completely.

"What's going on, Beckett?" Ryan stabs her with guilt and it hurts. The deep breath that escapes her lips is resolute. She has to move forward.

"I just… I don't even know where to start." Kate shakes her head, and her hands speak of the frustration that pumps through her; they feel clammy and she doesn't know if it's the exhaustion settling in, but her skin feels cold and burning at the same time.

"How about the beginning?" Javier's tone comes through harsher than she would have expected, impatient; he's just like her, he can smell it from a mile away. He senses it; the hard time she's having trying to break out of the protective shell she's cocooned herself in and he doesn't want to allow her that luxury.

"Sorry, we're all on an edge here…" He apologizes, berating his approach, coaxing her, but she won't have another one of these.

"Guys, before I say anything, I have to know that you'll trust me on this." They both nod back slowly, already enthralled in whatever she's about to tell them. "I know you're going to be full of questions and I know I have a few of my own, but we don't have much time for them…"

They nod, expectant, curious.

"These guys, _Miller and Smith_ -" she continues, clinging onto the facts.

"The _fibbies,_ " Ryan is on her humorous streak today and she has to be thankful that both her partners can cut through the tension with their bad jokes.

"They aren't FBI—" Kate clarifies, and both men in front of her grow restless at her abrupt confession. "I mean, they _were_ FBI, at some point, but not anymore."

Ryan leans back on the desk behind him, and shares a quick glance with Esposito.

"Last night, we weren't ambushed by the people that shot the Van De Kamps… we were held by _them_ , Miller's people."

Beckett lets them digest the information step by step, making sure that they follow along.

"Castle and William are still at their hideout, but the official story that you're going to hear from Gates, _Miller & Smith_, and me… is a bit different, starting from their names," she looks at them sheeply. "It's actually _Mulder and Skinner_."

Esposito shifts on his feet, not finding a safe spot to place his hands; stroking his face, cracking the fingers of his right hand as he buries it deep in his pockets.

"I want to stress this: not a word, not a snide comment, nothing comes out of this conversation. I just want your help, to bring –"

"We're all ears, Kate. You know we got your back." Javier cuts off Kate's anxious rant and in a way she feels relieved that both of them confirm that she may be worrying about the wrong thing here.

A cleansing breath will do. So she begins.

"According to Mulder – the group that shot the Van De Kamps is a cult, a _doomsday cult_. They want to get a hold of William, because, well, because they claim that the kid has some _special powers_." She can't focus on their eyes; but even while only dimly lit by the light seeping through from the room next door, it's enough to see how they grow wider with each part of the story.

"As it turns out, Mulder is William's real father, and he, his wife and his group had been escorting the Van De Kamps as they made their way out of the states, escaping the cult."

She's already looking forward to the day she doesn't have to speak of this story ever again.

"When the Van De Kamps got shot, Karpowski fudged the cult's plans. They needed to not only get a hold of William, but also the drawings that we have locked in evidence." She can see the wheels turning in Ryan's head; it won't take long until they're able to predict where all of this is going. "These drawings belong to him, and can only be read by him… some sort of code. Its part of the cult's _theory_ about what William can do."

Both men try to mask their reactions, but each fail in their surprise. They surely weren't expecting this to be it.

"When we were on our way to deliver William, Mulder and his people intercepted us. We were with them until early this morning." There's another throat clearing, one that speaks volumes about what isn't being said. "We were getting up to speed."

Esposito cocks his head; a silent question thrown in the wind and Kate shakes her own at his fears.

"They didn't harm us, they were actually pretty accommodating; their story is just so..." Her shoulders slump in frustration, the heels of her hands pushing the tension that stabs her pupils. "I mean, I could try to explain, but I'm not sure I could."

"Girl…" Javier's hand wraps around her wrist, peeling her hand away from her face, uncovering reddened and tired eyes. She's been awake too long; there's no coffee that could solve this.

"I know how it sounds, Espo," she concedes a beat later, letting the tension seep through and away from her. Kate just wishes that she could have this moment with another person, one that's way too far from her. It's up to her, to push her way out of this darkness; the more resolute they are, the faster this will be a forgotten page of this book.

She draws some distance from the boys and leans against the window to the empty interrogation room next door, the hesitation drawn on her features enhanced by the grey light bouncing off her skin.

"Regardless of this cult's story being of any truth, the fact of the matter is that we cannot let the cult get a hold of the drawings, or William." Kate turns to them; her next words are the beginning of the yarn of barb wire that will unravel in the next few hours. "So, I cut a deal."

_Keep pushing; don't look behind,_ she thinks.

"Mulder and his people know where they're hiding, and they will help us get our killers." This is what she's in it for. To pursue justice, this is her badge's objective. She'll find the Murderers and get Castle back to them. She'll get William out of the reach of cruel hands. Any other elements of this operation can't and won't blind her from her goal.

"And what are we giving them in return?" Ryan's tone is nothing but challenging in its own urgency and she already knows that her response won't sit well between them.

"The drawings, and the chance to do some serious damage to this cult's army."

There's a pregnant pause before Esposito barks through, policing himself into a harsh whisper.

"Have you lost yo' mind?" And perhaps she has. She's usually the voice of reason... but what makes this situation any different from when they have bent the rules before? When they have weaseled their way in and out for the greater good? "That's breaking the chain of evidence, let alone basing your whole plan on something that in so many strokes sounds like a bunch of bullshit from deranged mental patients. How are you buying into any of this?! For all we know they could be as dangerous as this so called cult!"

He's right. But she left _him_ behind with a promise.

He's right. But she believes because of reasons that she knows they won't understand.

He's right… But there's no turning back.

The unfairness of this situation is that regardless of how hard this is on them, on her, on her conscience and her belief system… There's nothing anyone may say that will make her change her purpose and her plan now. If she's to believe Mulder's whole story, their level of unfairness might need a reality check. She needs out of this Science Fiction movie.

Kate's negotiated enough. She's already filled all the empty spaces where she could fit doubts. As harsh as it sounds, even in her head, she can't allow herself to question her resolution because if she does, she'll crumble in her own fears. She cannot allow the questions to drown her.

"Espo…" she means to sound stern, but the thickness in her voice gives her away.

"This all sounds like some Castle theory, Beckett." Esposito's exasperation triggers something in her that she wishes she could feel better about, but she cannot keep this up. Either they're in or they're out, and at the end she knows that they will follow. She just wishes they didn't mirror her own discomfort.

"Javier, I honestly wish I could make an argument right now of why I chose to believe them. And like you said, this sounds like a Castle theory, like I'm being gullible about this, but you know me, you both do. You know I wouldn't drag you into this if I weren't sure about my decision. You know I wouldn't play with Castle's life like this, or yours…"

Beckett's plea lands heavily on them. The bottom line is that their questioning is based upon the infinite care that they have for Castle and Beckett.

"I'm going to need you guys to support us. We're going to need your expertise. I've brought you in, full disclosure, because I trust you, wholeheartedly. I know I can count on you, I just need you to stretch your beliefs… just a tad." Beckett lets them share looks and watches as their own wills fight the inevitable.

"How did Gates buy into this?" Ryan's raised eyebrow amuses her. They're in, and she gives them a shy smile.

"Well, that's another thing…" Kate hides a small smirk and nails her eyes to the floor. She's not proud but there will come a time when they can fully trust their superior… just… not yet. "We gave her a more _politically correct_ version of the facts. She doesn't know the whole truth, but she's in. All communications about the operations and the strike that's about to happen, while she'll be appraised first hand, the information will come through me or Mulder and Skinner..."

"I already have a headache," he responds. They'll probably have an ulcer by the end of the day.

"In a few minutes Gates will brief the floor about our status, and what you'll hear is more or less what she knows. She doesn't know about the deal; she thinks too that they're undercover FBI and that for strategic reasons the NYPD will be the muscle to storm the cult under the FBI's guidance to stop a terrorist threat and to rescue Rick and William."

They nod, absorbing the details, and she already feels lighter, calmer in a way now that they're getting down to business.

"I can't afford to bring Gates' in. She won't understand. And you'll have to act as if what you know is what she knows. The rest of the team will get an even more watered down version, for strategy's sake."

"Are we fearing a leak?" Esposito's worry increases and she hates to confirm the paranoia.

"We just have to be extra careful." Kate prays for a single moment, even though she's not a religious person, that all the lies don't come back to haunt her and draw purchase in the future.

"This story… is really complicated… I'm not wasting my time telling you parts of it that won't make a lick of difference when it comes to rescuing them." She fixes her eyes on Ryan, he's fidgeting, and she fears he's going to let his _by-the-book_ streak hit their plans, like has happened before… back when she questioned it all, and went rogue… and he, he happened to be right.

"But you'll tell us? Eventually?" He asks, and then it hits her that his hesitance is not about that, about being a tattletale, a _Judas_ like Javier called him in a fit of rage... Maybe this time it's only about actually knowing the truth behind her reasoning, behind what made her take this leap of faith that seems so outrageous even to her. Maybe, once it's over, she will. She owes him that much if he will be, possibly, putting his life on the line.

So she smirks, feeling the air around her gradually change and her lungs fill with a levity that can only come from feeling this camaraderie. It makes her feel within the grasp of a family.

"I will. I just can't guarantee you'll believe any of it."

She chances a look at Esposito's stubborn stance, waiting for his final approval, and she can see the last knot loosening before him, much to his own chagrin.

"Ugh. Fine... Jeez, Girl…" Javier says, already regretting it but finding it impossible to resist the grin that's already forming on her face. "Tell ya what. You just tell us what you need. When this is all said and done, you and Castle can open us up a permanent tab at The Old Haunt and we can continue talking about crazy theories and Nostradamus then…"

She nods, smiling at his joke, her eyes and her mind already looking forward to that day.

"We could use a hug in the meantime," Ryan requests shyly, much to Javier's awkward reaction. _Yup, he's such a girl,_ but Kate loves him all the same.

She places her hands on their shoulders, relieved at Javier's acceptance.

"Thank you, guys." They are gathered in a tight triangle that feels awkward at first but for a brief five seconds they let their tough police façade slip away.

"Just do something for us, Beckett," Esposito asks, breaking the embrace and shaking them back into their own personas.

"You name it."

"Kick it in the ass." He lifts his hand to her, inviting her into his usual fist pump… the one he reserves for Castle's exploits. He's never done that with her… its time for her to be one of the boys again.

* * *

The elevator doors close and Mulder finally lets out the breath that he had been holding for the last 30 minutes.

"What was that all about?" Skinner asks him as he joins him in the hall. He's obviously seen the exchange between Diana and him; the repercussions and meaning of her presence hold an importance that Mulder knows is fully understood by the older man.

"Plan C," Mulder responds as they walk towards the bullpen. Walter is right to be worried. The vultures are circling the pray and this is just adding more pressure to an overloaded setting.

"As in, 'In case anything else fails, I'd rather commit suicide' kind of a plan?" Skinner says through gritted teeth, in obvious disgust and disbelief by this change of plans. "For a minute there I thought I'd seen a ghost, or that my morning coffee was indeed way too spiked."

Mulder did too; a ghost scarier than any other, but a ghost that might actually become an angel of salvation.

"Relax, Walter," he hisses, in a sarcasm filled response as they reach the murder board and join Gates and the rest of the squad that have gathered for their briefing. Mulder takes his bag from his friend's hand and takes out a wad of folded papers, shoving them into Skinner's hands. "Here, have your part of the homework. Pay attention to the class. You don't want to be sent to detention."

Skinner takes the papers, still trying to get a more explicit explanation from him, but he'll have to wait. The older man is not happy. He's not happy at all.

"Okay, everyone settle down…" Captain Gates begins; the woman means business. Her authoritative stance draws the undivided attention of the room and is only disturbed by the fleeting glances that some of the detectives throw their way. "As you all know, at approximately midnight last night, after responding to the shooting of Mr. George and Mrs. Jane Van De Kamp, Detective Beckett and Mr. Castle were victims of an ambush, by a then unknown group, while transporting the couple's son, ten year old, William Van De Kamp."

"We'll continue to get more information as we reconvene about the facts but thanks to the assistance of Special Agent Miller, we have Detective Beckett back with us. Sadly, as of now, Mr. Castle and the child are still captive –"

The faces of the Van De Kamps, Richard Castle, and William stare back at Mulder from the whiteboard. They fill him with dread; his friends' faces are almost recriminating, and the writer's face surely must have an effect on the detective that is attentively listening to the briefing… but it's William's face that undoes him. To see his son's picture in such a setting fills him with fear but it's an irrational fear, he knows this.

William's in the safety of his mother's embrace, with the protection of the people he trusts the most; his team, his family. This is not a thought that should shake him, but it still does, because that picture could have been there for completely different reasons.

He doesn't want to think about it, but he's still haunted by it.

"Do the _fibbies_ know the kidnappers' motives? 'Cause they seemed pretty determined last night when they sprayed bullets at me…" An outspoken female detective interrupts Gates' briefing, apparently to the inconvenience of the Captain but apparently to the delight of the older detectives sitting in the meeting. She must be the one that stopped them, he thinks. This is probably the woman that prevented that other dreadful scenario. He makes a mental note to buy her a house and get Ally to finagle a mysterious donor to put a million dollars in her bank account… maybe a promotion.

"Detective Karpowsky – patience, please… don't jump ahead," Gates responds, holding court and trying to get the dynamic back on track. "As I was saying, with them still in captivity and not having received any communication yet from the kidnappers, we have to be all hands on deck and ready to bring our people back to safety the minute we can secure a sound plan. Luckily, we have the help of the FBI on this…"

"Is the FBI taking over?" The older detective to Mulder's right asks this time; _Detective Sole_ – as his nameplate reads. His white hair tells him that he is a seasoned watchdog; his expression confesses that he's not happy to have them here.

"Like Captain Gates said, we're only cooperating." Mulder chances a response, feeling participative, trying to break through the resistance of the team. He knows that he's going to have to appeal to his catalogue of sweet talking with some of these hounds, he just doesn't know if he'll be able to keep track of all the people-handling he's going to have to do in the next few hours.

The outspoken woman raises her hand.

"Yes, Detective Karpowski?" Gates allows the detective's interruption this time, but not without her fair share of annoyance.

"Were the Van De Kamps part of a federal investigation?" Karpowski asks, and Mulder makes a mental note that this woman will also be a pain in his rear end. Maybe he'll hold back on that bank transfer.

"We're not at liberty to say," Skinner takes the lead this time.

"I'd say that doesn't sound very _cooperative,_ " Sole comments, mocking Mulder and actually meeting his eyes, and he'll be damned but that sounded like a dare. Maybe he's not only a watchdog, but also someone he should be careful of.

"Are you at all surprised?" Karpowski responds from across the room, in a sarcasm filled comment that is drawing the briefing away from being _brief._

"Excuse me, sir. But how are we supposed to find a way to get to Castle and the Van De Kamp kid if we're not ' _in the know'_?" Sole asks the Captain, and he can feel Skinner's impatience growing by his side, trying to play nice, to stay away from precinct politics, that right now feels a lot like negotiating a press room. Beckett stands her ground from the back of the room with her two partners by her side. Their attitude is different; surely she must have already done her part.

"Detective Sole, is it?" Mulder addresses the man, deciding to cut through the bull.

"Yes," the man confirms, turning to him, not expecting him to be the one to address this question.

"I trust that this is not the first time this precinct has dealt with Federal matters." He'll appease him; try to play the suave, experienced federal agent that he used to be. Granted, most of the time it was Scully who did most of the sweet-talking in the late days of their FBI partnership… he grew tired of begging people to allow him to do his job. _Poor accountant_ , he considers as he recalls the bony man on the receiving end of his right fist back in the spring of 2002.

"While we can't openly share some of the information that we're sure would be more convenient for the investigation, it is our firm intention to be as accommodating as we can to help the NYPD solve the Van De Kamps murder and bring everyone to safety."

Sole nods leaning back into his swivel chair and Mulder can't really tell if the man is satisfied by his response; one of those good poker players, he thinks.

"So what _can_ be shared with the class?" The Latino by Beckett's side interjects.

"Agent Miller? Detective Beckett?" Gates ushers them closer, inviting them to take the lead of the meeting. As they both approach the middle of the room, he can see the tall woman by his side straightening up, assuming a posture that unequivocally fills her with confidence. She's standing straight, proud… a force to be reckoned with. He could have done a lot worse; at least he can thank the universe for making him deal with someone that holds this kind of power within her.

"Thank you, Captain Gates," Mulder begins, drawing his attention away from Beckett and back to the room. "What can we share with you, you ask? Not a whole lot, but still, more than nothing."

The faces before him go from pure expectation to a gradual slip towards disgust.

"Like your Captain said, we were able to prevent this group from taking Detective Beckett as well but time is of the essence when it comes to completing our task." The younger officers standing in the back of the room are the ones that are paying the most attention. Mulder fixes his attention on the tall African American uniform that listens intently. His face is severe, but his eyes are kind. His profiler backbone is trudging away, trying to figure out the overall character of this team; it will be useful, he knows it will. "We have been following this group for a while and have leads on their usual hangouts."

"I know, you may be asking yourself about _the nature of this group_ , and the best way that we have to describe them is that they're a _viral gang_." Or a virus altogether. Mulder has often considered that they're like the _Black Oil…_ spreading before them, menacing and dangerous, rotting and contagious. And just like with the Alien virus, they only have but weak ways to set them back; this whole situation is just a sign of it all. The Van De Kamps' demise is just another show, a dangerous display of how close they are to losing it all.

"How do they identify themselves?" Karpowski asks.

"They avoid being named as an institution or a following, though they observe the indoctrination of a leader," Mulder attempts, trying to remain as shallow as he can.

"Do we have a name for this _leader?"_ She takes another stab and Mulder cocks his head and shares a glance with Skinner.

"Let me guess? Some other part of the classified area of this collaboration?" Karpowski's voice is laced with frustrated sarcasm and Mulder shakes his head, partly amused, partly shaking his annoyance off.

"The cells go from one mayor city to the next, establishing themselves and securing a spot within the gang network – never disputing supremacy, but ensuring a wide spread."

"So it's like the _Burger King_ of gangs?" The Latino adds in a question filled with sarcasm that he knows is not even meant to be answered.

He's countered by the Irishman with the interesting tie by his side. "I don't know, Detective Esposito. Wouldn't you say it's more like _Starbucks_?"

They're taking stabs at him, establishing territory. He gets it; he came to pee in their backyard.

"I dunno, Ryan. Starbucks is pretty much the king of the coffee gang… and if these guys are-" Esposito elaborates. Mulder trades looks with Beckett, whose eyes are rolling in annoyance.

"I see," Ryan responds, nodding away, smiling at an amused Karpowski.

"Boys…" Beckett calls out as a warning and suddenly the whole room straightens.

"Right…" Esposito says in way of apology, one that's really just meant to say: _We're only listening to Beckett._ Don't worry, boys, Mulder thinks. We all know who the alpha dog in this pack is.

"Because of the delicate nature of this _on-going_ investigation, everything shared in this room and beyond is on a need-to-know basis," Beckett begins, matter-of-factly and professional. "I will be leading the operation with Miller and Smith but I expect to have this team on alert and ready to go at a moments notice."

Backs straighten, tension grows thicker and the previous humor dissipates. This is the team that will help them, and gradually he can see what Beckett means. They may not be all buttoned up, they all may not be FBI material, but they're sharp. As their undivided attention becomes almost trance-like, he can see the amount of admiration that they have for Beckett, almost more than the respect they hold for Gates. Yeah, definitely more.

As the woman continues to describe the tactical clearances that they will hold for their strike, laced with motivational requests and references to past cases and profiling, he's almost in awe and delighted that she's so capable; to be able to establish all these connections and be so prepared. Castle and this whole team are damn lucky. Hell, he's damned lucky.

"What is their motivation to take the kid? Were the Van De Kamps part of this gang?" Karpowski's query is valid; anyone would suspect this and quite honestly is something that fits even Diana's fake argument. "Did they have a beef with them? What's the deal?"

"To keep it brief, and to the point, just know that this group has a sense of ownership over William." Skinner interjects this time, and bless him from skirting away from being too detailed. They'll have to reconvene to incorporate Diana's story if they don't want to raise any questions about her. It isn't convenient if he's going to be using her in the very near future.

"Mr. Castle is not attractive to them, but they will use him as a bargaining chip." The meaning of such statement doesn't go unnoticed by the team.

"How are you so sure?" Ryan questions and Mulder knows that this is him playing the part his leader has instructed him to.

"It's their MO." Mulder dismisses, fast, and Beckett continues.

"This is what we're going to do: Karpowski and Sole, coordinate with the 54th, 20th, 187th and the fire department's paramedics. I want every uniform from those precincts ready to go." As the woman distributes the orders, a flurry of notepads and smartphones get busy as they take note of their responsibilities. "Captain Gates has already informed them of the priority of this case, but we need to establish coordination with them; identify point persons, shift schedules, any equipment restrictions. I want to have a couple of birds on call. Inform the FDNY that we're giving them a heads up to be on the look out for a special cooperation with the NYPD, three to four units—"

"Make that six…" Mulder corrects, drawing some worry in some of the team's faces. They know the meaning of such request. He doesn't need to explain.

"Six…" Beckett confirms and Karpowski shakes her head. Both women share a worried look as the outspoken one cracks her neck. "Six ambulances, with experienced personnel on board and double the medical assistance personnel. Have them point you to the Brooklyn or Queens teams if we're looking into a busy night."

"Wait - Are we expecting a SWAT operation?" Sole is one of those guys that's a grumpy bulldog, but he's also the experienced voice of reason. This operation, if it were a legitimate operation, would definitely call for bigger agencies, full involvement, not this improvised army of wills. Orders would trickle down from the Bureau; it doesn't take a math wizard to know that they have to act fast before the gossip spreads like wildfire.

"Don't question me, Sole." Beckett responds, in a mix between a shutdown and a plea softened by a pointed stare from her. "Just expect to not be going home early tonight."

The old man ain't happy. The old man will probably be the one they'll have to police if they can't get him to stop.

"LT, Johnson, Velasquez - if you have a rookie in training, please make them your shadow. I don't want any strays; get fed, get caffeine, we'll reconvene at 2pm," Beckett orders, exchanging a glance with Captain Gates for confirmation, and Mulder's heart rate probably matches the rookies, judging by the scared looks on their faces. "Before we go, I know this feels like we're keeping the team in the dark, I know this isn't how we work, just… You gotta trust me on this one."

A chorus of respectful confirmations and nods are their response, all of them immediately busying themselves with their orders and preparations. Gates returns to her office and Beckett turns to Mulder and Skinner, signaling them to follow her into the meeting room as Ryan and Esposito join them.

"You gotta be careful, Beckett." Esposito says the minute the door closes behind them, jumping ahead to Mulder's worry and addressing his same hesitation. "K and S are not rookies; they'll sniff the bull."

"That's why I put them on something that will take a headache to coordinate," Beckett winks at them, drawing snickers from the guys. "In the mean time, Ryan, you're on."

"Is this your tech wizard?" Mulder asks.

"Well, I don't know about that." The man is shy, it seems.

"He's the best," Beckett confirms, half a gush, half a scold to her colleague. Ryan reminds him of piglet, Mulder considers, mentally berating himself for allowing himself levity at this moment… Scully would laugh at that joke though…. after rolling his eyes and raising her eyebrow disapprovingly.

"Fine, fine," Ryan dismisses.

"I'm going to need you to fudge some cameras… do some damage… get along with a girl of mine that likes to scramble signals," Mulder begins to list, sure that Ally will have a ball dealing with someone that might speak her tech language for a change.

"What about me?" Esposito is the impatient one; he's bouncing off the balls of his feet, ready to go.

"You're the muscle guy, right?" Skinner asks, addressing the detective with a challenging stare.

"You got it," the detective responds, puffing up like a rooster.

"Then Beckett, you and I have some strategizing to do." Skinner pulls out the map that Mulder provided him with, laying it flat on the table, showing her the blue prints of a complex.

The countdown continues to tick away; he can see the goal within his grasp.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON ESSENCE OF EXISTENCE:
> 
> New York – December 21st, 2012.
> 
> "Is this your tech wizard?" Mulder asks.
> 
> "Well, I don't know about that." The man is shy, it seems.
> 
> "He's the best," Beckett confirms, half a gush, half a scold to her colleague. Ryan reminds him of piglet, Mulder considers, mentally berating himself for allowing himself levity at this moment… Scully would laugh at that joke though…. after rolling her eyes and raising her eyebrow disapprovingly.
> 
> "Fine, fine," Ryan dismisses.
> 
> "I'm going to need you to fudge some cameras… do some damage… get along with a girl of mine that likes to scramble signals," Mulder begins to list, sure that Ally will have a ball dealing with someone that might speak her tech language for a change.
> 
> "What about me?" Esposito is the impatient one; he's bouncing off the balls of his feet, ready to go.
> 
> "You're the muscle guy, right?" Skinner asks, addressing the detective with a challenging stare.
> 
> "You got it," the detective responds, puffing up like a rooster.
> 
> "Then Beckett, you and I have some strategizing to do." Skinner pulls out the map that Mulder provided him with, laying it flat on the table, showing her the blue prints of a complex.
> 
> The countdown continues to tick away; he can see the goal within his grasp.

"Took you long enough!" Ally barks through the line, and he can almost see the lines across her forehead, eyes intense with annoyance. She has such a temper sometimes… well, more like lack of patience when her nerves start affecting her.

"Hey, hey… don't blame me if I'm having fun. Jealous is not a good color on you." Mulder loves to tease her because he knows that she'd much rather be where the action is. She'll have her share, though… and very soon. "How are things over there?"

"Oh you know; the usual." There's some ruffling on the other side, he suspects she's moving around while talking to him and he strains to make out any noise that could be a tell of her activities. The precinct is noisy around him; everyone is joining in the frenzy of their assigned tasks. "Monica & Scully are gossiping and painting their nails, John is still trying to beat your score in Candy Crush and the world's newest lobotomized fiction writer is taking a nap."

He can't help but roll his eyes at her amusement.

"What did you do to him?" He chuckles.

"Hey, don't blame me!" Ally laughs, mocking a defensive tone that he knows very well is made to mask the fact that she knows she's gone a bit too far in her mischief. "Not to worry, we just brought him up to speed. He has the usual migraine that should wane down in ten to twenty years, give or take."

"Ah… _not to worry_ then." _Poor guy_ , he thinks. Castle won't be the same guy once this is over. "Hey, slight change of plans."

There's a groan on the other end of the line.

"I already want to kill you." A plop and then the sound of metal scrapping on metal – the gate - she must be going for a smoke. "What makes you think that you can afford to anger me?"

Mulder looks around him and all the activity enfolding: Skinner is knee-deep with Esposito and Beckett, analyzing the blueprints of the cult's compound, making calls and summoning their strike team. Ryan has managed to get all of his equipment set up inside this smaller room. Mulder had been worried about having to control more rooms that could expose their information, and he knew that it was going to be hard to avoid it, and to work like this, but he could at least try.

He signals to Skinner that he is stepping aside and goes into the room next door, closing the blinds around him.

"Hey, joking time might have to be postponed. This is a toughie," Mulder warns sobering up.

"Then… I'm all ears." He hears a puff and a shiver in her voice.

"We may have to turn a weakness into a strength." He lets the phrase settle in and he hears her scoff.

"Say what now? Are you going Buddhist on me again?" She chuckles, and its funny only because she's the one that had him reading all sorts of sutras at some point between Columbus, Ohio and Erie, Pennsylvania.

"What if we were to bring the other side of the town to this block party?" Mulder says.

"I'd love to hear your reasoning." She's humoring him only because this is not what she expected to hear, he's sure. Mulder is grateful of how open-minded she is, how even though she's so young and perhaps inexperienced, she's the best sounding board he has, next to Scully.

"Well, two reasons: first one, they're looking for the cult too," he begins, taking a look at the city outside the precinct. The snow is thick on the awnings of the diner across and everyone is doing the slow march avoiding puddles and mounds of snow around the street. "If we just lead _them_ to their hideout, and _we know who's there_ … we can have them all have their shooting party and score some hits on either side, cripple their capacities, and so _we_ can minimize our involvement."

A car honks outside and a couple rushes holding hands from one corner to the other. Normal people, living normal lives.

"I'm following," Ally's voice snaps him from his brief distraction, a noise of metal on metal again on her end. She's back inside.

"I mean we'd still participate, and bring our part of the deal for the NYPD," he continues, clearing his throat and leaning against the glass of the divider. Detective Karpowski argues through her phone while her desk fills up with piles of paperwork that the tall and dark uniform organizes while they absentmindedly share a bag of Zapp's chips. Someone is from New Orleans. "I'm kind of not feeling bringing more innocents into this brawl… These folks… they're just… tight."

Ally's gasp is overtly dramatic and almost hurtful in how much she's making fun of him.

"Should I alert the media? The Grinch grew a heart."

"Hey… 'Tis the season," he chuckles.

"So the second reason…" She continues, and he figures she must be back in the main hall by now. "Let me guess, we don't have a choice?"

Yes, they really don't.

"I thought so. Did you share this piece of news with your new friends?"

"That would be a no, too." He cannot bring any more confusion into this situation, plus, he'd fear the consequences. He already dreads the lack of control. "Just let me break the news to Scully myself." He's dreading it… he's dreading it a lot.

Scully never wants to talk about that part of his life, back when he was in love with a woman that betrayed him, back when she wasn't part of that life. They never talk about it, not anymore, and he guesses that is also about the sense of injustice that she can't stomach. She once said in a moment when they had opened doors into the halls of their most vulnerable places, ' _I can believe someone betraying you in War, but I can't tolerate someone betraying you in Love, not when I know how it feels to be loved by you'._

He had kissed her, deeply; he had wanted to crawl inside her and never come out because he'd had to fake bravery and not let them see how weak he'd turned out to be when everything had come crashing down back then. But Scully got him; she got that he became naked when it came to love. When it came to giving himself away, Fox Mulder was as passionate about it as everything else in his life. He was safe and protected with her… but Diana had left him exposed and wounded. It took very little to remember that these days.

"You know I can still read you even over the phone, right?" Ally snapped him back once more, and he knew that he only got philosophical when he was trying to bury fear deep and out of his sight. "Old flames are always trouble."

"That brings me to another thing." He clears his throat, trying to sober up even though he knows that it's futile; he can't hide a thing from her. "I need you to coordinate with their comm. man over here. I'm going to need to trace all communications coming from her phone and so on. See if they took the bait, you know the drill."

"But… without raising suspicions. Got it. The wider the net, the smaller chances we've got to miss something?"

"Yes…" Mulder responds. "So, let me have a few minutes and then I'll leave you to all of your finagling?"

"You want to do this planning through our line?"

"Yes, the more secure, the better," he confirms.

"Sure, sure." There's a knock on her end of the line; she's going to Scully's quarters. "You're just lucky that you don't have to worry about being in the dog house. I hope you like Skinman's company."

"You have such comedic timing…" He turns away from the glass panel and takes a seat on the leather desk chair by the main table. The door's creaky hinge groans; he never got around to putting some grease on it.

* * *

"He's on the phone." Ally says when she opens the door, and Scully's heart jumps in her chest as if it could very well hammer its way out.

"You miss me, admit it." The younger girl chuckles into the cordless satellite phone and bids her goodbye. The joke calms her a little; it's a light conversation. "Smell you later."

She won't worry, not yet, but she is. She's been worried ever since the doors closed and he left them behind or she left him go by himself. Maybe is not so much about him leaving her but her leaving him. Not leaving, that's not it… she allowed him to maybe make a very bad decision.

"Hey, everything alright?" Scully tries to sound calm, to not make him feel like she needs him back by her side immediately. _Calm_ so he doesn't think that she's having trouble keeping her fear at bay. _Calm_ so she doesn't give away that she's not alright when they're not working as a team.

"Yes, everything is good. How's the offspring?" His voice is light and she chances a look at William who rests placidly in his cot.

"Still taking a nap." A smile spreads across her lips as she tucks the blanket a little bit tighter, embracing him a little bit more.

"I wasn't expecting a call from you, not for a few more hours… should I be worried? Did you manage to piss them off already?" She tries to keep it light, and Monica's eyes meet hers, curious. She knows him well too; chances are that he already managed to ruffle feathers, all the feathers.

"Just some unforeseen things, that, well, were unforeseen." His voice really says it all. Twenty years of knowing each other's quirks and tells don't go in vain. A sigh escapes her lips and she's sure that the color has drained from her skin; the pain is already creeping up her neck. She takes a seat; she's learned this by now: never take these calls on your feet.

"I'm listening," Scully pinches her nose, scrunching her eyelids hard and trying to shun away all the voices that start showing her all the shades of her fear. The sound of the door closing behind her lets her know that Monica has decided to give her some privacy, and she doesn't know if she's relieved or not.

"We got a visit this morning from William's aunt…" Mulder begins.

"They didn't – He doesn't –" She cuts him off, frantic, because all sorts of alarms are going off. The Van De Kamps didn't have any other family; this is why they were so convenient. No one to respond to, no one that would expect explanations, or to fear would report that they were missing or leading a slightly _complicated_ life. This is definitely _them_. "Is she a member of the cult?"

"No, she is not." He lets out a deep sigh on the other end and seconds of silence that feel eternal. "Scully, it's Diana."

The utterance might as well have been a blow to her head, followed by a hammer to her stomach. She's dead, she's been dead for longer than she cares to admit. She was out of their lives; Diana Fowley was one of those demons that she had been sure they could finally say they had exorcized from their lives. She had welcomed when she didn't come up in conversations, when she saw in his eyes that the pain had been stored away and locked with a forgotten key. They didn't talk about it anymore, because there was no point, because they both deserved better than to sink in the pain that woman caused for both of them. Even when she had tried to be "human", could her last action on this planet really make up for a lifetime of cruel wrongdoing?

"How?" she asks.

"You know how." She does, they've feared it of everyone that ever died. Of everyone that could come close, of everyone new they met, of everyone and even themselves.

"She's one of them." And it's not a question but a reaffirmation. The ones that died but came back.

"Complete with the customary allergy to magnetite," Mulder confirms and it's almost kind of humorous. "Diana Fowley is a supersoldier."

"Did you talk to her? How much does she know? How much do they know?" _How much should we fear?_ Her mind is screaming with the possibilities.

"She knows more than we would be comfortable with. That's why we're adjusting the plans," he explains.

They'll have to send Ally and Castle in sooner than expected and now be risking more on their end; _to avoid harming innocents_ , as if that was ever possible. Someone always gets in harms' way. And who falls under that classification anyways? Weren't they all _innocents_ once? Isn't William an innocent? Isn't Ally? Isn't Castle for that matter? Mulder is letting her know of his plans, one of the million options that they had fantasized about at some point and never thought likely. They will play them against each other, leave them to fight in their nonsensical angry thirst, slip through the cracks and escape when everyone is looking the other way. Smoke and mirrors.

"I'm sure that by now _they_ know a whole lot more than they did yesterday, and that's something we can use to our advantage."

William stirs in his sleep and all she can think about is how is that their life turned into this. A war. When is it going to end? Will they ever have a _normal_ life?

"Ally is going to start coordinating when we finish talking. Add the new details Skinner and I have talked over. It seems like we're going to have to send John in after all."

"Ironically enough I think he'll be calmer about that than staying with us." Doggett hadn't been at ease sending Ally and Castle without a back up with them. "We have to come up with a convincing story for him."

"Don't worry. We'll have him follow. They'd never believe he's not infiltrating. Castle will slip through. William and you will not have to shift anything." Mulder's voice strains to sound reassuring but she knows better. "We're good. We've got this."

They don't, but they don't have a choice.

"This is so not what I wanted to go into…" Scully laments, resigned to it. Better ride the quake. "What about the NYPD? Are you making new friends?"

"Oh, yeah, we're all braiding our hair over here…" His sarcastic laugh is almost more soothing than anything, because he can still find humor in this. "Look, I know you're going to worry regardless of what I say, but this is a good thing. We've talked about this. It was an unlikely scenario that just happened to fall into our laps; they'll do our dirty work and we can have a chance to cancel them out and have a blank slate for a while."

"For a while…" Because they'll never be safe. "I guess that there's not an option now."

Mulder lets the silence fill the gaps of things unsaid between them and they're good like that, with their silent conversations.

"How's Walter?" She asks.

"He's good, sharp, even for a man of his age." Their friend certainly is not as young as he was twenty years ago. But he's still got a lot ahead of him, even with nanobots in his bloodstream, and having escaped death more than he cares to admit. What's another stripe on a tiger?

"I'm sure my mom is thrilled." She can only imagine that conversation. Maggie Scully… well, Margaret Skinner as she went by these days, had become well versed on the nature of their deal. They talked from time to time, through special means, and always found a way to make sure that they knew that the other was safe and sound.

"Yeah, about that…"

"UGH! I told you he wouldn't tell her!" She's going to have to brave her mother's wrath when she explains that they've called her husband into an operation that will probably risk his life and that she'll get to stand on the sidelines, again, as the people she loves risk their lives. "I'll call her answering service later."

It just keeps getting better and better.

"We gotta get moving." There's another sigh and then a stammer on his end. "Look, Dana, she's –"

"I don't want to talk about her. She died a long time ago, Mulder." She stops him before he says something that she doesn't' want to hear. She doesn't want to hear hesitation, or how he finds a way to have compassion for the people that have hurt him the most, just because he once loved them. "That entity that lives in that body is not Diana Fowley,"

They're not human; they're not beings with feelings and layers and the complexity that makes the difference between vicious viruses and people, between heaven and hell, between everything that should be eradicated from earth.

"Do we really want to discuss the nature and existence of souls right now?" They've been down this road. It's always a tedious one.

"I'd say it's more about the nature of humanity," she corrects him with haste, she doesn't want to fight, not him, she wants to fight everyone else that set them on this path that will never not be full of thorns and acid lapping at their wounds. "This is your plan, Mulder. If you're sure, then I'm sure."

"You know I'm not, but I have to trust my gut on this." Scully wishes that there wasn't a phone line between them, and she could look into his eyes, to find in them everything that he has never been able to put into words.

She lets his soft breathing on the other end soothe her back to her surroundings.

"I love you, Mulder," she whispers, as if saying it too loud could let the most precious of her be known. As if this was still her biggest secret, perhaps it still is; it's the secret to her survival.

She can feel the smile that must be spreading on his lips.

"I love you more."

He does. He went to hell and back for them.

"Kiss the wiz kid for me." She gets up, chancing a last look at William before she silently goes out of the room.

"I won't. You can do it when you come back," Mulder laughs in approval. He better be back. "Don't be a pest. Here's Ally."

Scully hands over the phone to the girl.

"They're in their room," Ally says at Scully's silent question. She better break the news to John… and Monica. He has his own preparations to do; they have their own conversations to be had. God knows what the outcome of this operation will be.

* * *

Skinner leans on the doorframe; he's been watching her for a while. Before, he thought he was paranoid at Hastings' meandering, but now he is sure. She is eavesdropping and doing a terrible job at hiding it from him.

Maybe she isn't used to watching her back from old dogs like him. Maybe she doesn't care who sees. The real question is… whom is she doing the spying for? Her demeanor changes and she walks over to the break room just as Mulder comes out of the room she has been posting guard to; he has no idea. They have to be more careful. What did she overhear? What else could she know by now?

Mulder walks over to Detective Ryan and hands over their satellite phone.

"She's in the know, and very smart. Don't let her fool you." He says in the way of a warning, and the Irish man takes it as that. Skinner cannot help but smile, because Ally is probably going to give him a run for his money.

"How did Scully take it?" Walter asks.

"A lot better than your wife will." He's been avoiding that call; she must be awake by now and wondering about his whereabouts. "By the way, you probably will owe your life to Scully."

"If I don't get killed here first, you mean." He will still have to do some damage control, he's sure. But he's worried. There's a lot on the line this time around.

"Well, there's that." Solemn, that would be the word that describes their mood.

"How is the planning on your end?" Mulder stands right next to him at the door, looking at the people around them that seem impossibly stressed, ridiculously hectic. The urgency exudes from them, and Skinner is thankful of it, but he also fears that this is a monster they won't be able to contain. Beckett has been holding the fort and doing her share, controlling her team, letting him feel better about their chances.

"We're good," he responds despite his doubts. "Beckett is holding court. Detective Esposito has some solid operations training. I think we should be good with his people… But we may have a containment issue."

Walter turns toward the bullpen, nodding towards the officer that now chats with Detective Sole.

"Officer Hastings has been keeping a rather close watch on our… conversations."

They try to keep a cool demeanor but Mulder's tightening jaw betrays him.

* * *

"Do you think she's spying for someone?" Their eyes follow the movements of the woman. She's taken over helping out with the checklists and the tasks that Sole is dictating.

"It could be plain curiosity, snitching for Captain Gates, or who knows… maybe for one of our other friends…" Skinner's eyes travel the bullpen, watching out for other prying eyes. "The thing is that I don't like it."

Mulder doesn't like it either.

"Was she outside of the door while I talked to Scully?"

Skinner nods and Mulder backtracks on everything he said, on all the details he shared. This is not a mere threat. This is bad.

"What do you want to do about it?" Walter asks and their eyes meet; he dreads the possibilities. He doesn't want to raise any more suspicions.

"Anything we do will be noticeable, but we'll take care of it." Mulder signals for Beckett to come over and she joins them by the door as he delivers the last instructions to the man that was once his boss. "Continue with Esposito, and confirm the support spread with the others."

"We're almost finished summoning _our help_ -" Beckett informs; she's all business, hands on hips, powerful stance.

"We need to take a ride." Mulder cuts her off and worry spreads across the woman.

"What is it?" Fear threads through her tone and Skinner signals towards the bullpen.

"We may have an interested party overhearing more than she should." Beckett follows their gaze and zeroes in the woman. "How much do you know her?"

"Hastings? I trust her, but…" Her doubts almost betray her words.

"But who can we trust for sure?" Mulder completes and she nods, a hint of regret spread across her face. "Just follow my lead."

They walk over to Detective Sole's desk and he knows that they're not being subtle about their approach, but _fuck_ _that_ ; they have no time for diplomacy. Containment is the priority; he can't risk it all when they're so close.

"We're going to go check up on a source. How about we take officer Hastings as our back up?" Mulder suggests, feigning a calm demeanor, offhandedly, but just barely. He's sure that the woman can sniff that something is up.

"But... I'm prepping for FDNY support," Hastings starts to object before Beckett intervenes.

"I'm sure Detective Sole can spare you for a few, he's got plenty of friends at the ladders." She's definitely using her tools to appease them. "Would that be alright?"

"If she must," the man responds, not quite convinced. Mulder is already tired of walking on eggshells.

* * *

The drive is silent. They didn't fill Hastings in with any details of their so-called source at any point, they didn't come up with an excuse; she doesn't even know what will transpire between them. Beckett doesn't have a clue where they're going until they head North on Hudson St.

They park in front of one of the access stairs to the High Line. It's an odd choice, but she'll give it to him; it's a public place, non-threatening. The last time she was here the scenery had been dramatically different. The sun was shining all the same, but the summer temperatures felt a lot more welcoming than the gelid air that funneled in between the buildings surrounding the structure today. There had been flowers, and greenery, laughs and whimsical looks between her writer and her. They'd held hands, they'd shared ice cream cones, and they'd laughed.

She hopes for a summer like that once again.

They pass the Chelsea Market, and head over, further down the walkway. There's barely anyone in this place that would otherwise be packed with tourists if the weather were milder.

"Man, I haven't been to this place in forever. Way to make a dump into something more… appealing," Mulder comments, nonchalantly, his stride energetic as if he actually sought a destination, but Kate is having none of it. She can see it on Anne's face; she knows this isn't the way to any source.

"This is far enough," Kate announces, stopping Mulder from continuing this charade and taking the lead. They stand, gloved hands in their pockets and wind biting on their cheeks.

"As good a place as any." Mulder's eyes meet Hastings'; she's checking her surroundings and Kate can see the nervous shift in her.

"Who are you spying for?" She asks, bluntly. No sense in delaying; if they're in danger they need to cut to the chase.

The question slays through the young woman as the blade she once used while donning an unlikely suit.

"What? Detective Beckett – I—" Hastings stammers, eyes wild and fearful.

"Cut the crap, Hastings." Mulder cuts her off, his tone far more threatening than Kate's; perhaps because he's detached from this person, perhaps because he's used to questioning and pushing back against people that have betrayed him. "We caught you overhearing, why are you so interested? Whom are you working for?"

The wind whips the flags that hang from the posts and for a minute there's an emptiness to their surroundings, as if everything has stopped to hear the young officer's response.

"No one!" She responds and Kate can hear the pleading laced in her voice; her hands try to form words that won't come and she expels a frustrated sigh that forms a cloud of steam around her pale face. "Detective Beckett, you know me better than this. Why would I-"

"Because you lied to us in the past!" She hates herself for doing this, not against her family, she'd said. This feels wrong… but maybe she was wrong about her. She's been wrong in the past, everything came to new light after Montgomery. Everything shifted after she got shot, and definitely her life changed when one boy challenged everything she believed in.

This woman lied to her in the past, what stops her from doing it now?

"You went rogue and played superhero on your own. How do I know that you're not doing it again? Why should I trust you?"

Why should she?

Kate ignores the questioning look coming from Mulder, she has no time to explain that piece of their past, though she knows that sooner of later the outlandish accusation will have to be clarified.

"Because I trust you? You think I don't know about that little conversation you had with Senator Bracken when I let you into that conference?" She's bewildered by Anne's comeback. She never thought that her actions that day were known by anyone but Castle and the boys. "I could have ratted you, but I didn't. I'm not black mailing you, I'm not, but I know and still I trust."

Mulder stands his ground, surveying the area for possible onlookers, but sporting an expression that tells her that he's utterly interested in these details he knows nothing about.

"How do you-?" Kate stammers, shaken by her disbelief.

"Let's just say that there's a lot of us that are always watching your back. The advantages of going _rogue_." Anne barks back, and Kate doesn't know if the tears that spill from the woman's eyes are just the effects of the wind or actual emotion. "We look up to you. I wouldn't work against you."

A group of bundled teens rush past them, all giggles and playfulness as they throw some dirty snow at each other.

"Then why are you spying?" Kate asks, calmer now that they've had a forced pause.

"Because I don't trust _them_?" Hastings eyes throw daggers at Mulder and he scoffs at the passionate response. The Kate Beckett from yesterday wouldn't have either. "Don't get me wrong, Detective Beckett. I know what's at stake for the precinct… for _you_ , which is why I tried _spying_ as you put it."

Each word hits every button as intended. She knows her enough to read all the fine print.

"What have you overheard? This is important; who have you told?" Mulder asks.

The officer looks at him, still sizing up whether she has to answer to him when Kate touches her shoulder in encouragement. She finally caves in, as if the admittance weighs the world.

"I got suspicious over the sister-in-law, and I told Gates." Kate can feel the pinprick of a thousand needles stabbing her lungs at that piece of news. "But she told me I was paranoid, and that I was just leery of the new people."

Why does she suspect the sister-in-law? And then she remembers; Mulder had stayed longer with the woman after Gates finished her interview. She hadn't made much of it, but now all sorts of alarms were going off, especially at Mulder's expression.

"She didn't believe you?" Mulder is almost incredulous.

"I think I ruined my chances of getting that promotion." She looks away, leaning on one of the railings. Kate bides Mulder with a look - he's almost counting his blessings. "But I know there's something going on, that's why I was trying to confirm my suspicions."

She's going to have a long conversation with Mulder. And she's going to get her answers, but she won't let Hastings know she's in the dark about it.

"Are you sure Gates didn't make anything of it?" Kate asks again.

"I don't think so." She sounds sincere; her eyes speak of honesty. Beckett has been in this situation with her before.

"Anne, you can't tell a soul," she pleads. "Whatever it is that you overheard, whatever suspicions you have, from now on, you can't share."

"Unless…" Mulder interferes.

"Unless what? Unless I want to die?" Hastings dares him. "Look, I don't know who you are, but I know you're not FBI, and whatever is going on might go beyond my understanding and my pay grade, but I won't let you threaten me when I know _we_ must have something you need from us, otherwise you wouldn't be orchestrating this gigantic charade. I don't care if you're paid assassins –"

Mulder stops her speech, hands up, surrendering.

"We're not that kind of people, officer Hastings." He's honest, but the truth is that she has every reason not to trust him, especially when she has another piece of the puzzle of secrets that this man seems to be. "The bad news is that people we're trying to stop are not as benevolent as we are. They would have shot you for your indiscretion."

"Does Gates know that they're not FBI?" Kate probes.

Hastings looks deflated as she shakes her head.

"I wasn't planning on sharing, not after she dismissed my initial suspicions." Hastings kicks some of the snow in the ground, regretful; she has definitely evaluated quickly what the risks are, but so has Beckett.

"What do you think?" Mulder asks her, and she knows what she should do. It might be the best thing but it might also be the worst one. So she'll take the leap.

"I think we should bring her in…" Hastings eyes open as big as saucers at Kate's resolution. She can tell that the officer had been expecting some other more dreadful fate.

"She has some… skills that are better off on our side," Kate admits, a small cautious smile creeping on her face when she notices Anne's poor attempt to hide her own pride. "Esposito can definitely use her."

"Are you sure?" Mulder questions her but she levels him with a look.

"Yeah," she nods; it's beginning to feel better, maybe she should have included the woman in with the lot earlier and avoided all this.

"Ok… but, you better curb her bite." Mulder looks at Hastings in fake resent and starts his way to the car.

Kate leans by the young woman's side, overlooking the river and the grey and white colors that cover everything. Is she making the right decision?

"So… That's it?" Anne asks, almost perplexed.

"Let's say that I'm prone to trusting your instincts," Beckett assures, trying not to seem eager about it, and give herself the upper hand of doubt. "I told you once you're on your way to making great things. Maybe this is your opportunity to shine."

"Thank you." She's humble about her response. This is a huge opportunity that she's given her, and if she's to survive, it might mean some serious reconsideration of her position within the team.

"Don't thank me yet. You don't know what you're getting involved in…" Kate ushers her back the way they came, feeling the contained relief wash over her peer. "But Anne, thank you, for watching my back."

"It's my pleasure… our pleasure." A candid and confident smile plays off her face when she winks at her. "We're just keeping you safe until you can make Captain."

Kate shakes her head. She really has been blessed with a great team.

"Just, don't – Anne, you can't share any more with anyone. Understood?" She'd be risking more lives, even when trying to help.

"I promise," Hastings responds, dead serious; she's also learned how to read Kate's hesitation. Mulder waits for them under the overpass of the market with a tray of steaming coffee cups.

"Let's go," he says as he hands the cups to them. "We've got to meet with some of Esposito's guests."

There's no stopping now, regardless of how many players are left in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all my eternal love to Ky.
> 
> The High Line is a fantastic place in Manhattan's West Side. You can google it, is a great walk on a Saturday, better if not as cold as it has been so plan for a spring trip to NYC!
> 
> Leave me a review, spread the word, I love it that all of the sudden I'm getting new faces reading this! Thank you, everyone!


	20. Chapter 20

Her skin is pliant and warm, like a welcoming velvet that envelops him, igniting his need to touch, to bite, conquer every corner and curve, every heartbeat and sigh, every desire… every dream.

Is liquid, like molten lava surrounding him, creeping into every crevice, every forgotten corner, every shallow sense - everything.

She's his everything.

_Please, let it not be a dream._

But he knows it is. Because as much as he's sure that colors fuse and the earth shatters every time he kisses Kate's lips, this is just his imagination filling a void for the moment, guarding the dreams that she cannot guard. It's his overactive mind that still cannot believe that he gets to drink from her caresses until there's no more air… Just to start all over again. It is a dream, because she's not here. He let her walk into the darkness without him.

It is a dream...because right now there are colors everywhere. This is a dream, and perhaps it is alright.

Richard can't differentiate what part of his scattered mind tenders the truth and which one hides the guilt. What is reality? Is it the part of his mind that feels colder and frightened, where he doesn't want to look? Or is it this almost amniotic pool of ecstasy where he floats? He's waiting for his muse to unveil herself to him, to call out his name in frantic desire.

Like she does when it's not a dream, when he praises reality for what it has become.

There's a nagging part of his brain that tells him that he shouldn't be having a sex dream, that this is not the moment. That part that reminds him that this is not reality, yes, that part he should have removed, he curses to himself. He concentrates back into the colors that entice, the touch that creeps up his chest, teasing his skin, making his blood boil, making him aware of every nerve and every part of him that becomes alert with need. Loving words that whisper promises and secrets that he's grown accustomed to and fingers that comb through his hair, pulling him into the sweet nectar of her lips once again.

And again… and again.

He's always wondered about her amazing capacity to surprise him every time. Just when he thinks that he's got her figured it out - that move that drives her crazy, that touch that he knows will throw her into a blissful earthquake - he discovers another part of her, one that brings him to tears with pride that he could unveil her secrets. He knows it's something that overwhelms her, that surprises her, because no one ever knew them… knew her. Not this deep, not this bare, not like this. He melts into her with every thrust and caress, with every breathless moan of uncontainable pleasure, with every wanton wail as the spiral drives them deeper into their own nirvana.

It's green… and hazel… and gold, like the spectrum of her eyes as they change under the sun. Its deep and gorgeous like the magnitude of her words when she barrels through her walls and joins him, in his love, in his need, in his breathtaking sense of completion.

Because she makes him whole.

Complete.

He doesn't want to break away. He's terrified of the growing darkness that haunts him beyond the cocoon of her cascading tresses over him. He knows it's his subconscious protecting him, warning him of his fears. But he's fearless with her, sharing her breath, moving as one, until there's no more.

He clings.

Until the colors fade.

Until the air thins.

Until his muse dissolves and his mind clouds with fear.

* * *

"Psst, lover boy," he knows this voice, but it's muddled behind a curtain of hormones, and emotion and fast coursing blood. "Time to wake up!"

That's right; he's not surrounded by the warm embrace of those arms. He's cold. He's alone.

"You alright?" Ally asks again, at least he thinks she repeated herself, because all words sound foreign; he really needs more sleep, sound sleep, restful sleep… not longing dreams triggered by yearning. For her. He yearns; they've been separated just a few hours, but he yearns.

"Yeah, I was just-" the girl smiles, mischievously. _Right_ , he reminds himself. She got her own helping of his imagery. It's not so much the time apart, he rationalizes, it's the fact that he fears he'll never see Kate's eyes again.

"What time is it?" Castle asks, trying to divert the attention from his ponderings and any physical indication of his stream of thought.

"Time to wake up and wash that mind of yours with some chlorine." Ally winks at him. No such luck then. He's almost bashful, but at the same time annoyed that everything in him and of him is being held captive.

"I just- never mind."

"Don't worry, I'm used to it." Ally tries calming him down, casually. He recognizes the humor in her voice and wonders if this intrusion is not so much the source of the amusement, but actually a cover, that witnessing other's thoughts is something she'd choose to avoid if she could. It can't always be something pleasant that she witnesses, it can't always be love and desire. What about the times she can't help but overhear the darkest thoughts a human being can hold inside?

"So, there's been a slight change of plans," she begins, clearing her throat, obviously sensing his continuing inner dialogue, and he'd be damned but he's sure he just heard her voice tremble in just the slightest. "We need to roll out sooner than expected."

"Everything alright? Is Beckett ok?" He follows her outside the room he has been staying in. Yes, everything is still grey and cold in this reality.

"Yeah, yeah, no worries, just adjustments. It was bound to happen."

Things have been happening while he's been dead to the world. The table has been packed, and most everything that had been laid out has been put away. They're definitely getting ready to roll.

"What are we doing?"

John Doggett emerges from his quarters followed by Monica, hauling what seems to be the last of their own belongings.

"We are going to give you a rapid fire training on how to be you, just a different you." Ally informs him, opening her laptop and resting it on the bench that still remains to be packed.

"Beckett already tried to do that; took her over four years, and I don't think she's quite done yet." He sidles up to her, trying to tame the rumpled hair on the back of his head, and scratching the scruff that now is just making him uncomfortable.

"Right." Ally sounds dismissive. He should probably cut it off, the banter, stop being the man-child he's been accused of being by so many people, so many times.

Maybe this is the moment. And so, it begins. Rapid fire, she said. Rapid fire it is.

"Curtis Weaver - 35, native from Iowa, single, no known allergies, addicted to red bull and quinoa chips. Whatever, one does not question people's deranged food options. He's your token weirdo and the leader of the cult, well, one of the most powerful ones, and ironically our _in_ to try to take them down."

"There are others?"

"Yes, he's just the most outspoken one," Monica responds this time; her eyes are swollen, he notices just now. Her mood is a lot more sullen than before, and Castle wonders why the woman's chipper mood has changed. "If they actually had a president… He'd be your traditional bloodthirsty dictator."

She tries for a smile at her own snide comment, but she can't even pull that one off.

"He has some other weak spots… that are of our knowledge." Ally's attention goes back to the computer and John scoffs and shakes his head, and there it is again; it's not humor, its disapproval.

"You should add to that list that he has a merciless predilection for shooting people without restraint." John's words sound more violent than he probably intended; his eyes mask a lot of worry behind them.

"Got the scar to remind me everyday, John." Ally responds, annoyed, her eyes tell him that there's a lot more than just a gunshot wound story behind it.

There's tension in the room, thick like molasses. Monica grabs onto the duffel bag that John has been holding, and takes off in the direction of the elevator with Scully.

"Our previous plan was to go to the facility tonight," Ally continues and shows him a few pictures of the cult's hideout. A few places of advantage, a few lookouts, nothing entirely too evident, but that is perhaps what makes it more dangerous. "I'd surrender myself and when the take over from the NYPD happened, we'd just slip you and William in, act as if they had you guys all along."

"Why aren't we doing that anymore?" The change of plans is making him more nervous and doubting that they're in fact on top of this situation at all.

"I may need assistance, and John is too high profile. There's a few _new players_ involved and... we don't want to expose William anymore." That might be the strongest reason of it all, but he's also weary of these _new players_. Whoever they are, it can't be good if its making them rethink and rearrange a plan that was a done deal for them. "We're going to need to micromanage…for the sake of your friends too."

"My friends? I don't understand. Who are these new players?"

"It doesn't quite matter, baddies are baddies, no matter the smell, shape, or form." She ignores his query and carries on. "Do you have any sort of fight training… sparring, sharp shooting? No exaggerating, you know you can't lie to me."

"I - I have some training. I'd say I've had enough to defend myself." Not that he thinks that he'd be sword fighting any time soon, and he wonders if by all means he'd be safer if light-sabers were actually a thing.

"Good, that's good to know." She shuts the laptop and puts it in her bag. Sharing time is over and he's left baffled as Ally secures her pack to a bigger case. She's ignoring him, he can sense it. She's not the only one that can read between the lines.

He's not awake enough for this. He's being handled by a girl not much older than his daughter and regardless of her probably being a trained assassin, he can't let her have the upper hand.

"Look. I'm going to need more details than this," he says, tentatively, not that he has much of a choice. "I know we didn't quite have the most detailed deal but… If I may die in this _operation_ , I'd like to know my chances."

John takes the cases from her and rolls them out towards the elevator too. Castle doesn't know if this is because the man doesn't want to deal with his questioning or because he just doesn't want to hear the answers.

The lights above them flicker, with a cold, blue flash of light that fluorescents often give, and the muted electrical whir of the elevator is the only background noise to this sudden pause.

"We've caught the attention of additional people looking for William. Powerful people," she finally says.

"The government?"

"Kind of." Her hands are in her pockets now. She's fidgeting, this is a first. "Supersoldiers within the government."

"Wait, aren't they like… _crazy powerful assassins_?"

"Yeah, that's why we're setting up a better scenario for your friends. One of the conditions was to not involve them too much, so we're living up to our word." And she's not happy about it. That was a non-negotiable aspect for Beckett and him. "Odds are that our retrieval party might be too hard core; innocents robbed of their innocence… and lots of questions out there that we can't manage to deal with just yet… for the sake of everything."

There will never be enough answers.

"You said it yourself," she continues, and he sees it in the sudden change of her breathing, in the flare of her nostrils as she carries on. She's scared, but it's an angry kind of fright, and she won't admit to it. "These people are _crazy powerful assassins_. They won't hesitate to kill anyone you care for, including your daughter, your mother, Beckett, her father … and you, if it comes to their chance to get to William... just as much as the cult would. The difference is that the odds of killing a cult member are way higher than killing a supersoldier."

"I got that. Your stories were pretty convincing. I just feel that-"

"Let them battle each other. We'll slip through the cracks, and still give you the assassins. Isn't that what you want?" She meets his eyes and there's fire and edgy nerves behind it.

"Yes."

"The diversion will be big enough for us to leave _afterwards_ without minding our backs so much."

After… if we survive. If they survive. If everything goes as expected.

"Right now, the NYPD and the FDNY are still on, they're still part of the equation, but with a much more controlled participation than they think they'd have."

Castle considers it for a moment and wonders how much of this new adjustment has been sanctioned by Beckett's instincts. Right now, he has to trust his own and secure that he's doing what he is meant to do. Protect William, protect them … and their future.

"So it's up to us," he states, and she nods. "We'll go in before them, set up the bait, do recon."

"The supersoldiers would fall for it, come in, strike the place." She continues the explanation, very matter of factly; she's memorized it. "We know that the cult has been arming themselves to fight off any of their attacks. Magnetite bullets, magnetite linings and such. It will be carnage before we know it."

Her choice of words worries him, because at the end of the day this is like a fishing game. Castle knows that most everything in law enforcement is based on instinct, in the work to get to know your subject, in the evaluation of those weak spots and their strength points. Collecting the evidence.

Striking at their most confused and weak moment would be indeed favorable to people that have no clue what they'd be facing. It gives them the upper hand. But they'd have to create that upper hand. It seems unsurmountable for a small strike team to win a war that he can't even strategize; he'll have to trust, and that is such a futile concept these days.

"So when there's enough damage done between them both, we'll bring in our boys to 'rescue' William and I?"

"Not William," Scully clarifies, startling him.

Another change in the plans, and he suddenly wants to hit the pause button because he needs more time; to profile the aftermath of these changes, of the reasoning and the possible best case scenarios that don't make him nauseous with dread. The mature streak of him that appears from time to time is telling him that his hesitation doesn't come out of cowardice but because _his_ own instincts are screaming at him. He can do better.

"Wouldn't that set you guys back to square one? If William is still missing, his face would still be out there… A missing child after such a broad police intervention..." He lists his objections, what he knows. He's seen it happen before, with the Candela's, with that poor boy trapped in the depths of the New York City subway.

"Then it's my turn to ask. What do _you_ propose?"

Scully challenges him and he already knows the answer to this; a solution used by someone far more sinister… this time though, he'd use it for the greater good, to seek justice instead of allowing the evil to squirm away into the shadows.

"I propose something that while it might be a bit hard for you to imagine, or even fathom, could be the end of it all. Of this entire hunt." Scully's eyebrow rises, intrigued and alert. They're going to have to pull more stops for this part to work… but he suspects it will be worth it.

"The best way to disappear, is to not exist anymore."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON ESSENCE OF EXISTENCE...
> 
> "I propose something that while it might be a bit hard for you to imagine, or even fathom, could be the end of it all. Of this entire hunt." Scully's eyebrow rises, intrigued and alert. They're going to have to pull more stops for this part to work… but he suspects it will be worth it.
> 
> "The best way to disappear, is to not exist anymore."

They climb out of the parked van; the surroundings are frigid and grey, just like he imagined any part of the industrial park of this section of the city would be. Another nondescript row of buildings, some abandoned and boarded, some even burned down; the beautification project surely forgot about this part of the city. It does serve the purpose for shadow organizations though, fits like a glove, hiding behind broken walls and the dark intentions that they may favor.

"You've got balls." Ally lights up a cigarette and looks at him while puffing out a cloud of smoke. He wishes that he could have a crutch such as this vice to mask his nerves but Castle reserves his smoking to aged and rolled Cubans.

"That's been said of me before." He adjusts his jacket, surely wishing that he had his scarf with him and remembering moments where he was able to relish in his manly abilities. Beckett be damned, he's stepped up to the plate more times than she cares to admit. "Maybe not said in so many words, but you get the idea."

He won't admit either that he takes a special pleasure in having a girlfriend that can kick his ass in more ways than one.

John and Monica climb out of the vehicle as well, checking the perimeter, never letting their guard down. The woman hands Ally a backpack that they've prepared for their 'trip' - a whole and solid mockery purely for the enjoyment of the cult group. They're going to infiltrate it. No detail can go unlooked.

"I thought she was going to gouge your eyes out," Monica says with a half-smile that tells him she half enjoyed the previous near-to-debacle conversation with Scully.

"Well, it's not like the pictures are true, and I'm sure William won't be scarred for life. It's just… make believe." But Castle is sure that those images will haunt the boy sometimes. He just hopes that he will understand, and he's almost sure that he will. It's all done for the greater good, for their ability to keep him off the radar, even if for only a bit.

"They better be believable, and so the whole gimmick," John worries with reason. This plan could turn the whole situation around in one second, either for the better or for the worse. "I don't think Scully will be able to sustain something like that in real life."

As a father, he couldn't either.

Scully's response to his idea had been visceral, her nostrils flaring and her eyes full of steel. They were not putting her kid in a body bag; they were not covering him with blood, making him act lifeless for the camera, hold his breath, and look dull and grey for the sake of a lie that could save his life.

But they needed this.

William had taken it in stride, barely flinched when they zippered him up, and was a great sport not to panic. He knew exactly what's at stake.

They need to take something back with them that not only would alleviate the pressure on them, but also allow for even more believability for their plan to infiltrate the cult. Disenchantment is always a big seller. If they can prove that Ally no longer believes in Mulder, that their mission and objectives are done, perhaps this will allow them to rattle the cage, to throw the cult off their game and then have them weak enough for 'the others' to strike.

It better work, because he knows what he did to Scully. It was painted in her frightened features as she tried to look away from her greatest fear. He wouldn't want Alexis in this situation either, even if for make believe. Not his baby girl on a murder board, not in danger, never in a body bag for any reason, especially for reasons that may be pinned to everyone else but her.

"So we better be convincing," he says, still half lost in his momentary reverie.

Ally nods, taking a last puff at her cigarette and throwing the butt away from them. Castle has to admit that part of his nerves reside in the fact that he's trusting a lot on the shoulders of this girl. A girl that's pretty much Alexis' age; a girl that regardless of whatever they may have lived, is still supposed to be that: a girl.

Just like William is just supposed to be a boy.

"Be careful," Monica advises, tucking Ally's hair under her wool hood. She had changed into different, more twenty something girl-type clothing when they had set off. The younger girl tries to get away from the other's touch but gives into the tender gesture. "I need you back for girl talk."

"You have Scully for that," Ally retorts, and it almost sounds like she's jealous.

"Not the same," Monica punches her left arm and Ally punches back, stronger, but still good natured about it.

"Just keep him sane," Ally sobers up.

"I may be too late for that." Monica snorts, throwing a look at John who's still on alert, checking for any kind of funny movement. They're about three miles away from the actual neighborhood the cult has ensconced themselves in; this is him just being an extra layer of careful.

Ally opens her backpack and produces a plain beeper. She hands it over to John who examines the device, curious.

"The minute I get there and find the weak spot, I'll get a smoke break. When this burns, you'll get a call here." Ally instructs. This is a level of technology that Castle is most curious to figure out how this actually can be done.

"What if they find it?" John questions. "What if they break it and it gives me a fake signal? What if they take away your smokes and you can't let us know?"

"They won't," she dismisses and John is certainly not convinced but Castle guesses that they really don't have much in the way of communication choices. "Just keep your eyes glued to this, and don't miss the call."

"We'll be ready." Monica sounds a lot more convinced of the effectiveness of this plan, taking the beeper from John's hands.

"You shouldn't have any problems using my laptop to keep track of the communications on this Diana chick and all of the numbers associated." Ally continues to give instructions, to the point and sure of herself. She stops to look at Doggett, straight in the eyes, to make a point, to nudge it in. "When the time is right or if you see any anomalies -"

"Yes, I know, get to Mulder." John nods.

There's a silence and look shared between them. Ally allows for the possible consequences of the next step to wash over her and lets him hug her, tight, like a brother would. He's scared and so is she, but she won't allow the weakness to take over her rationality. Castle admires this in her; if in any other situation, she would make such a great cop, an FBI or a CIA agent even… catching thousands of bad guys, stopping terrorists somewhere, giving Beckett a run for her money, any day. But then again, would any of that be any more kick ass than what she already is?

Ally separates from Doggett and starts for the corner.

"Wait." Castle stops her, startling her.

"What?" She asks. "Are you chickening out?"

"No. I- You promised…" Castle says, looking at Monica who nods and trades looks with her husband.

"Here. Make it short," John says, trying for severe but failing miserably.

Castle takes the satellite phone from him and makes his way to the front of the van for some privacy, leans against the grill, briefly enjoying the heat radiating off of it, and wishing it were the crackling fire of his loft. It rings three times and then he hears a voice that makes his heart rate soar even more.

"Babe…!" Beckett's voice sounds a bit out of breath and he imagines that she rushed to the break room or even that damned broom closet to hide away from prying eyes. He smiles at the image, because his mind tells him that she's doing it to continue keeping this relationship from Gates, and not because they're lying and carrying out a plan that deceives the values that she holds so dearly.

"We're going in," he blurts out before he lets any of his mental rambles out by mistake. "We're at the dropping point."

"Mulder, he - He explained." Beckett keeps him from elaborating more and he's thankful that this conversation has been had. He wouldn't want to waste precious seconds explaining something that, while interesting, he'd rather spend hearing her voice, telling her things that mean more. He wants more of _them_. Just in case.

"It is better this way, trust me."

"The boys are ready to roll here. Though, I'm nervous about these other players." The tremor in her voice is hard to mask, he knows she's trying and failing, because he's been in plenty of situations where her voice has quivered like this; her eyes go unfocussed, her left hand finds a spot on her hip to brace herself, rather than showing her adrenaline rush.

"We won't ever have the full picture it seems." He kicks some of the slush piled up against the curb and chances a look behind him. The other three seem thick in conversation, still looking over their shoulders, but waiting it out. "Look, I just wanted to-"

"Don't. I don't want to hear something anywhere close to a goodbye, even just in case."

He's sure she means to sound commanding, but she's not dismissive; she's pleading for him to stop.

"But what if-?" Castle tries.

"No - You will be back. I need you back. I'm not giving you an option," Kate counters, trying for a lighter tone, still failing, still letting her voice be infused with that soft tenor that he's heard when her barriers are down, vulnerable to the world, vulnerable to herself.

But he knows his muse better than this. He won't allow her to shut him down when this moment is needed. He couldn't live with the regrets and neither could she.

"Kate… I know we're still new at this but, I just need you to know… that I really, really love you."

The gasp on the other end might sound like surprise to anyone else, but he knows it is just the problem with not being able to see her face. He knows the sound is the beginning of a sob that she'd try to cover by touching her lips with the fingertips of her right hand. She'd look up to try to keep the tears from flowing and avoid taking any more breaths on the off chance that any of them could unleash the free fall of her emotions.

"I've loved you for so long," he continues, "even when my heart knew before my mind. I know I tell you from time to time, but I should have told you every day, every hour."

Castle waits her out, gives her time to mull over his words. He knows she loves his grammatical traps; that she's fallen over and over in love with sentences that he didn't even know he was writing for her, missives aimed to find her heart and act as nomadic blind messages in bottles that his books became. He didn't know, she didn't know, but ingrained in the fabric of destiny, hidden in stories about killers for hire and spies, there was a love letter and a plea to find each other.

He would do it all over again.

"Rick, I know you love me. You don't have to say it with words for me to know it," she begins, whispering words, soothing as silk and the touch of her skin on his, but growing like a tempest, with the fire that he knows burns at the unfairness of this whole situation. "I'm the one that regrets wasting any time. I'm the one always hesitant to admit it, and yes, this is new, but -"

He cuts her off before she finds herself pleading for him to stop. Mainly because he would. He would stop if she asked. Kate won't do it, though - because she's just as selfless, because she will match his need for justice, because they couldn't live with themselves if they abandoned this quest that in a matter of hours found their deepest corners and attached itself to them.

"Kate, I'm doing this, something that others might deem as very stupid because -"

"Because you love me," she says with a growing steadiness in her voice that is still filled with deep emotion.

"Why are you lying to half your friends and trusting strangers with your life and career, besides the obvious need to save William?" Castle enumerates, hitting her with facts, calling out to her rational side even though the answer will be riddled with a sentiment that is quite irrational.

The silence in the other end is cut off by a strangled sob, so he cuts her some slack and says the words that he knows she feels.

"Because you love me, Kate."

"I need to see you soon." She pleads, she states, she demands.

"Then let's make this happen," Castle answers right away, trying to bring a bit more levity to the conversation that could spin him off his resolve. "Don't worry, I won't do something foolish."

She laughs on the other end, a wet laugh.

"Not _too_ foolish." He imagines that those tears on her cheeks were just celebrating his joke; he can set himself into a healthy denial for now. He didn't make her cry out of the possibilities that they both fear.

"I love you," Kate says, sure of herself, simple and honest, calmer, having found the solace that that statement could bring to her.

"Yes, you do." Castle assures, and the statement is not a foretelling of a tragedy, or one of those corny lines in a movie that predict an untimely demise. It's a promise. He hangs up before he finds himself unable to do it, takes a deep breath, and walks back to the group.

"If at any point you smell something funny, or you feel like you need to get out…" John states, trading glances between the girl and him, severely.

"There won't be anything we can do," Ally completes the sentence and she's just stating the caveat of this plan. "You know they won't let us leave."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back when I posted this on FFN, I was having a hard time finishing this fic. But I loved it anyways. So many of the people following kept me going, while my country was going to hell. While I went days without power and hell was breaking loose outside. I hope that you're enjoying it.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Previously on: The Essence of Existence:
> 
> "I need to see you soon." Kate pleads, she states, she demands.
> 
> "Then let's make this happen," Castle answers right away, trying to bring a bit more levity to the conversation that could spin him off his resolve. "Don't worry, I won't do something foolish."
> 
> She laughs on the other end, a wet laugh.
> 
> "Not too foolish." He imagines that those tears on her cheeks were just celebrating his joke; he can set himself into a healthy denial for now. He didn't make her cry out of the possibilities that they both fear.
> 
> "I love you," Kate says, sure of herself, simple and honest, calmer, having found the solace that that statement could bring to her.
> 
> "Yes, you do." Castle assures, and the statement is not a foretelling of a tragedy, or one of those corny lines in a movie that predict an untimely demise. It's a promise. He hangs up before he finds himself unable to do it, takes a deep breath, and walks back to the group.
> 
> "If at any point you smell something funny, or you feel like you need to get out…" John states, trading glances between the girl and him, severely.
> 
> "There won't be anything we can do," Ally completes the sentence and she's just stating the caveat of this plan. "You know they won't let us leave."

**12TH PRECINCT - NYPD**   
**11:50 AM**

Mulder waits for her outside the break room. Despite having that talk with Hastings, he's aware that she may not be the only one with eyes on them. The brief glances that he's thrown Beckett's way tell him that talking to Castle, maybe having a _last_ conversation with… _that person…_ it's tough on the detective, regardless of how much of a strong front she's struggling to keep up.

She hangs up the call, her shoulders slumping, and he'd love to give her a moment but he has to make sure that her head is still in the game. Mulder enters the room, startling her, and she rushes to cover her emotions by busying herself with the espresso machine.

"I'll take one if you're sharing," Mulder says, trying to shift the mood.

Beckett doesn't respond but takes a couple of porcelain mugs and sets them over the machine while the spout drips the dark liquid into a separate cup. Her hands betray her cool, a noticeable tremor that tattle tells what she won't allow him to see on her face just yet.

"So how much do you trust Diana?"

The question comes out of left field but he knew it was coming eventually, and he suspects it is her way to divert him away from her moment of weakness. He had briefly explained the shift of their involvement, at a glance, but with no real detail.

She methodically goes about heating the milk, pouring and grabbing a couple of stirrers for their cups, stalling, stealing a moment to wipe her cheeks.

"What's to trust?" He says, taking the cup from her when Kate finally approaches him.

"Well, from what I gather, she's not William's aunt like _she_ claimed, and not really a contact like _you_ claimed…" She takes a sip from her own cup and leans on the counter. "And there's enough to it that it made Hastings suspicious, so what gives?"

"She is a contact, sorta- She's my former partner at the FBI, my former best friend, my former girlfriend…" Mulder meets her eyes to gauge her reaction; so far they remain schooled and somewhat detached. The detective gene is creeping back. "She's also the artist formerly known as Diana Fowley… former human being."

That does it.

"She- She's one of _them_?" She asks, the revelation startling her as much as he had imagined it would.

"Yes."

Mulder is suddenly concerned that she may snap and punch the life out of him. Kate shifts on her feet, her energy building up for sure.

"I thought she was just a middleman. How much does she know?" Kate's tone is hushed and careful, with a slight tinge of paranoia that has failed to leave her voice ever since they started getting deeper into this hole.

"Very limited to my understanding, but she'll be crucial to our plan." Mulder checks that no one is particularly focused on their conversation; paranoia is indeed their best friend. "Diana knows we have him, she knows we're planning to strike them."

"This changes everything! Are you crazy?" She rushes to the door and locks it this time. "You sold this to us as if you were just calling for reinforcements outside our reach. If _they_ are what you claim they are, we're gonna be walking into a slaughter house!"

"Yes," Mulder clings to his plan. "But I get to set the rules, and so I'm holding the cards now."

"You said no one would be harmed-" The fear and accusation in her voice cuts him through but no one could really promise her that at this point.

"I never said that-"

"I told you I didn't want to- My team-" Her worries have her tripping over his words and hers, leaving her breathless as she looks outside; the bullpen is thriving with activity, everyone trying to do their best to prepare for an operation they really don't know the scope of, or its repercussions.

"Look, just, Beckett- Hear me out," He says while her eyes stay glued to her people. "So we don't expose your team, this is partly why I'm doing this. Ever since she left the precinct we've been running surveillance on them, both on their communications and movements. I put a bug on her, it's still on…"

Beckett turns to him, alert, listening to the new details. He prays to a god he doesn't believe in that everything is still working to plan.

"We've been careful," he continues. "They weren't followed to the drop spot, _they_ don't know where the cult hides. We have the cards, _all_ of them."

A pause goes between them, her lips pursing in concentration, stern, a challenge.

"What about _unconventional_ means of communication?"

_Yeah, what about them?_ The question surprises him, because it comes from her, but it is a totally valid worry.

"You've come a long way in just a few hours…" He states, playing with a few loose grains of sugar on the surface of the table in front of him. In another time, in another reality, where he'd get to wear these suits again, he would have loved to recruit her, someone with her passion for justice, and such sense of loyalty.

"Look, the truth is that for me to be able to keep the NYPD and your friends out of harm… I need Diana to do our dirty work."

"How can you trust her?"

"The truth is that I don't, but she does trust me and her grip on me." He cards a hand through his hair and loosens his tie. "That's why it's going to work. Trust me."

She downs the rest of her coffee in one swig, eyes trained on him.

"I'm sorry, but trust is a thing that you have to earn… and you don't have the time to win mine. At least not completely."

Kate sets the cup on the sink, and leaves him trying to find solid ground to an argument he knows she'd win.

* * *

She doesn't have the time to be angry. Beckett's heels stab loudly as she strides towards the room they've set up for their covert team. She doesn't have the time to be angry but for the time being, her heels will be. _Damn him, damn it all._

Everyone is busy at their own task when she enters. Skinner meets her eyes briefly from his post but it's the guys that know her well enough, that have lived through her hardships enough, to know that she's in no mood.

"Is everything okay?" Esposito is the one that chances the question when she hunches over the map of the cult's hideout.

"Yes," Beckett responds, but she knows very well that a hiss through gritted teeth speaks of the opposite. "It shouldn't be but a few hours more, and then-"

"And then?" Javier coaxes but she doesn't know what would be a sound answer to that question. _And then what_? They'll be protagonists of a great battle? Or the onlookers? The victims? The winners? Or maybe, they'll be the losers…

"Ryan, how are we with the cameras?" Kate asks, avoiding Esposito's question instead of delivering a lie.

"All set to broadcast our way, and _only_ our way, the minute that I ping them with these commands Ally gave me." Kevin responds right away, with a touch of giddiness to his voice, pleased with their work so far. "I tested it on our own system, like you saw. It works, but it is guaranteed to provoke some mayhem the minute it does."

"It's okay. We will need the mayhem," Mulder comments, making them aware of his presence in the room. "Esposito?"

"We're good to go," the detective confirms, confident. Leave it to him to be cocky, Kate thinks, and it actually feels reassuring to have this, to have some detachment within the familiar character of her siblings in arms. "Ten of the best I could find on this short notice. I've already reviewed the plans with… Smith, and they should be here in about an hour."

Skinner's facade doesn't even tremble at Esposito's hesitation of his name. She's looking forward to the moment they can step into The Old Haunt and drink themselves silly, sharing all the snark they can't let loose right now.

"That puts us at 1PM," Kate says, doing the mental math. "Good."

"How about the rest of the team? All the crew being put together, will we still need them?" Ryan asks, obviously at odds with what the real plan is.

"If things work the way we're foreseeing, there will be plenty of aftermath to attend to," Skinner explains. He meets the eyes of each of the people in the room, his voice speaking of the solemn character of his experience. "If we want to minimize the _unnecessary_ involvement, we should make sure to bring them in just after the fireworks."

"We're good, we have people inside that team," Beckett lets them know, offhandedly, surprising both of her detectives.

"People?" Esposito throws her his signature eyebrow and she nods.

_Don't question it._

"Yes, people." Mulder responds in kind, and it almost feels like a territorial stab as well. Esposito turns to him, clearly holding back a choice selection of words that he'd like to bark at the agent.

"How will _we_ be able to be in two places at once, though?" Javier asks, choosing to tackle the important details of their plan. "I doubt that Gates won't object to us leaving separate from the rest of the team… and she definitely won't like not being involved."

The plan as Mulder had explained, was to let the strike team hit the cult forces while they surveilled, to assist only if needed to extract Castle and Ally from the compound. The rest of the force would come in as the embers died down, to collect the aftermath, and apprehend the members of the cult.

Now that the "strike team" was nothing but a troop of super-soldiers, Kate knew that this would be even less kosher than she had foreseen.

"We'll have to stagger, but you have a point," Mulder concedes. "And there's still the matter of the drawings."

He throws a look at her; it's a kind look, but she avoids it. She has no time to deal with his attempts to socialize and the irrational side of her wants to punish him, even if for just the slightest time.

"I've talked to Hastings, this will be her _thing_ ," she responds to no one in particular. "We need someone that knows the system and the rotation enough so that we can pull that many boxes without anyone objecting to it… and with Ryan's and Ally's trick… I think the plan has come together."

"How so?" Esposito questions.

"We need to break the chain of evidence, right?" She explains. "Who's better at knowing the ins and outs of this than the people that handle it everyday? Hastings laid it out for us, with only a couple of caveats: how to carry out such an amount of boxes and then the cameras. She brought LT and Johnson in."

"Do you trust them?" Skinner objects.

"I don't have much of a choice, but… I actually do." Beckett holds his gaze for a second, seizing him, until he seems convinced. It feels strange to have to trust this way, when just a few months ago she had been leery of everyone that set foot outside her circle of trust.

"So with Ally's hack, we can take care of the internal monitoring…" Esposito crosses the T's.

They have to trust, they have no options, if Castle's life is at stake. If William's future is at odds.

"Beckett, what if we kill two birds with one stone?" Ryan proposes, interrupting her train of thought. "I can run point from here, make sure to help the kids. Gates won't get alerted that we've all left. That way I can control the impact of the communications being down."

"Yes. Great! Thank you, Ryan."

"And when are we planning this delivery?" Esposito asks, still leery of the plans he can't control.

"During the escape," Mulder responds. "Fair trade, right?"

"Look man, not that we don't have enough reason to be leery of all this, or about the definition of fairness, but why don't we call a truce on the snide comments?" Ryan cuts in before Esposito can bark a reply.

Ryan has always been the person that surprises with a wisdom that no one expects to come from such a young face, and Kate is so glad that he's the one to try to bring them to center. They need to let their frustrations find a way to power their efforts and not to go against them… a truce, yes, from all of their egos and fears.

"We can do that," Skinner says, throwing a warning look at Mulder. They're scared, that's all there is.

Mulder nods in agreement as he takes a seat towards the window.

Esposito and Beckett trade looks, and knowing smiles.

Skinner sidles up next to Ryan, meeting his eyes, and then those of the rest of the team. "Then all we have left to do is… sit tight."


	23. Chapter 23

They've walked in silence since they left John and Monica behind, both in their own heads, dodging the puddles and mounds of snow in the solitary neighborhood. It makes Castle nervous, that it's this desolated - they pass the entrance to an alley; two squatters are struggling to light a fire outside a makeshift tent. Midday has hit and the temperature is far from rising much more than 34 degrees. It's bitter cold.

Ally's walk is determined, checking the periphery every now and then; five blocks down and turning left and nothing seems threatening, except maybe for their own fears. They're walking into an unknown peril, at least for him. As much as he has been forced to rely on the young woman before him, trusting that they have any hold on the situation they're about to confront is a joke. They should have just said it out in the open; this operation is most likely as suicidal as it gets.

He would have felt better if in fact John had come along; he gives him an odd sense of companionship that he senses out of people like Esposito, not that he'd ever admit it to Espo or Beckett, because god knows how that battle of wills would resolve. But it's that simple feeling that you have someone who'll watch your back, and he seems the type.

Beckett would watch his back. She has… He has watched hers, too. So many times. It's unfair of him to lament over this, he suddenly feels, but isn't it also unfair to demand that John or anyone else were to be involved in this kamikaze mission?

He mentally kicks himself. _Fairness,_ yeah, right.

"So who put the foot down?" Castle asks, curious.

"Meaning?" Ally answers with a fleeting glance, continuing her path, dodging an open manhole that's covered with a few boards.

"I thought Mulder was pretty sold on John coming with us," Castle shoots back and Ally slows down a little, perhaps sensing that the conversation won't be reduced to a random question, but will actually demand thorough attention.

They reach the corner, and she stops, startling Castle and breaking his stride.

"Ok, we're getting closer and I'm not going in without having another one." She pulls a cigarette, carefully, and Castle holds his breath, picking the wrong one could potentially damage their plans.

She laughs. "Relax."

Ally looks around, checks for passing cars, and crosses over to the next block with Castle on her tail.

"I don't think Mulder can overpower Monica's resolve," she says, addressing his question and lighting her cigarette. "I don't think that at the end of the day either of them would have allowed the other to leave; not after everything they've been through."

Part of Castle tells him that his first instinct would have been _pack up and leave_ , but he has been in a similar situation where Kate's thirst for justice, when _their_ _thirst_ had prevented any of them from running away. Kindred spirits, heartaches alike.

"You see, I don't know that you've paid enough attention, but the whole deal with Mulder being our _leader_ is not about pulling rank, but because unfortunately he happens to be the one that has suffered in his own flesh what it's like to be in the other's psyche.

"I thought that was you," Castle quips back. She takes a drag and throws him a side glance, a sneer almost, she was being serious. But so was he.

"I read minds - yes - but there's a difference to living those images and just seeing them," Ally clarifies and he gets the point.

It briefly takes him back to the time he started coming to the 12th. Esposito and Ryan had often shared war stories; from the front, from Narcotics, from their own natural walks of life. Being a writer, _listening to stories_ represented until then the primal fuel to his fantasies, but since he's taken part in the NYPD reality, when he started to write from experience rather than from the extraneous bird's eye view that he had been limited to before, he has truly become Jameson Rook in a way. That's why the _Heat_ series is so unique; it speaks from truths instead of assumptions. His time at the CIA hadn't given him truth, he has discovered in more ways than one; his time with Kate Beckett has made all of his passions whole.

The meaning of an experience, per se, has shifted and reinvented itself for him. From being humbled, to appreciating human nature in a way that he hadn't before, to actually recognizing when he doesn't have the tools in his belt to fix it all and let go of his ego.

Kate taught him that too, even when unaware, with all her complexities and the challenging realities that came with the goal of tearing down her walls. From knowing her enough to find ways to get her out of the dark tunnels of her mind, to learning patience, empathy and selflessness. She's taken him to levels that he wasn't aware he could reach.

He still wonders what it would be like to truly be able to be the omnipresent narrator that Ally is though. She's reading their chapters, in a way no one else can.

"I may tease and give you guys a hard time about your thoughts and the memories you'd rather keep hidden. I may also cringe about all the other experiences that I get to witness… and how I know how it feels to you… because I know by reference how they do _feel_ , like you just considered, but there's another thing about empathy… it's not the same to hear about making the shot than it is to _take_ the shot, right?"

And just like that she puts into words the conclusion to his examinations.

"And who reads your mind?" Castle asks, and in any other scenario it would seem flirtatious, but it really is a legitimate curiosity. What would it be if the tables were turned and with the sheer amount and level of her ruminations, would she want to have herself put under a microscope?

"Plenty have, for good and bad reasons…" Ally comments, with a pang in her voice that reminds him that this trip will take her back to the realities that she ran away from in fright, a reality that wounded her enough to take a bullet, gladly, if it meant that she'd have freedom.

Is that what it means to her? When her own psyche was up for the highest bidder, did it mean that she was now the slave of other people's minds?

"Including Curtis Weaver?" Castle probes. Another drag, another puff of smoke that dissipates.

"You're good." she responds with a tinge of snark, shaking her head. "I'll give you that.

It didn't take long for him to put together that there had been more to the story behind the leader of this cult.

"Subtext, I'm a fan," Castle smirks at the raised eyebrow on her part and the silent question she doesn't utter. Maybe he's starting to read minds himself. "Your look, when John said Curtis shot you… It wasn't just anger, there was something else there."

She continues her walk and after a heavy sigh Ally has gathered her thoughts enough for the answer she wants to give; he can see the wheels turning, her need to fight off animosity and give him honesty. She takes the last drag of the stick and flicks it away.

"Curtis likes to believe that he's almighty - that life and the universe has granted him wisdom, and perhaps he's gotten some of that. But the truth is that he's chosen to take a path that's wrong, and with it, embraced all the cruelties to make his way to what he thinks is the _greater good_."

She slows down as if deciding if she should stop for the next part, the clouds above them are getting even thicker, and the wind whips hair strands that have come loose.

"Inherently, everyone will look at their goal and never think they're doing wrong, not really," she continues, actually stopping and letting her eyes examine the way behind them, considering their path. "Everyone will think that they're sacrificing something for what they believe is their greater good but he has killed way too many people on his way to… that greater good.

Like Bracken… like everyone else at some point in his payroll, even Roy Montgomery.

"That, and he's also wrong about what he thinks is the truth, but even then, that might even become a point of arguable contention." Ally smirks, shrugging.

Is there ever an answer to that age old question?

"The problem with this fight is that by the time that we know who's right, there might be no turning back, and… then, who's the actual judge of what's good?"

The words hang heavy and the crunch of tires on salt make them direct their sight to the semi trucks that have just exited the lot to their left.

"I might be too hungry for this level of philosophizing," he says, evaluating their exchange. She rolls her eyes but produces a candy bar from her jacket's front pocket.

"Thanks."

He takes a bite, offering her a piece that she takes gladly. They munch in silence until he crumples the wrapper and buries it in his pocket.

"Back when I joined them, the impression was that I was _the one,_ complete with all _The Matrix_ jokes." She starts walking again, slower this time. "People kept wavering, and he kept defending that I just needed to come into my abilities. He even claimed that the prophecy was wrong, that perhaps William wasn't the only way to get to their objective. With time it got …complicated."

"Isn't he too old for you?" Castle wonders.

"I've never believed in age, not when it comes to guys, anyways."

She states it matter of factly and he feels the brief dread of everything associated with it, including the fact that he'd never asked Alexis about her opinion on this matter. Castle stores the cringe-worthy question for later.

"It was nice to feel loved, I had never felt loved, in any way."

Ally kicks a discarded soda can that rattles its way down some dirty looking steps on the building they're skirting. The gravity of the solitary statement cuts him raw, because no one deserves to have this broken life. What makes him so lucky to have the love he has enjoyed?

"With time… I figured out I was being used, he knew it all along, that I wasn't the one, but just a tool."

He feels a sudden urge to tell her that, just that she's worth – he wants to be fatherly, and anger brews when he realizes that she's past the stage where an endearing gesture could solve a lifetime of trauma. These are scars that he can't undo, nor make better, despite his own pathological parental tendencies.

But Ally senses this, and then Castle considers that maybe there's an upside to her gift that he has undervalued; when there are so many things even he cannot put to words, out of respect or boundaries, or even when he'd just need more time to formulate a reply. Even when there's a difference between feeling, sensing, living and experiencing… she gets to have this, to be an empath to his empathy.

"Look, I'm not telling you all of this because I'm having a girlfriend moment with you," she barks, rolling her eyes, and he laughs, because the whole situation is just so... irrational and laughable.

"But… I like to be fair. I know a lot about you that you haven't even had the choice to give me permission to know, and perhaps there won't be enough time for you to get to know me later."

Silence hangs again between them… until she takes pity on the rapid-fire thoughts and fears that cross his mind.

"Maybe I should rephrase that - maybe _I_ won't have enough time to allow you to know me - and fair is fair."

Ally's eyes bury in his, no nonsense, solemn as much as her young face allows - the wind bothers his ears making her words hit deeper with the whistle of a tempest that's soon to hit.

"If anything happens… I want you to know that, yes, I also wish I could have been just a kid, and have had a dad, and have had all those memories that you cherish, and in a way, I do have one, a father."

"Don't feel sorry for me," Ally says, staring at nothing and everything... and he knows why. He may not be able to read minds but her eyes would still betray her. "It could be better, but I gave up on wishing, and feeling broken because none of those wishes came true."

She meets his eyes again, if ever so briefly, with a scrunched set of lips that make her seem even younger than her outfit makes her look, a naked expression to her that's suddenly unveiled.

"When I looked around me, there were other, small great things I could cherish, and grab onto, to understand what happiness should and could mean to me."

But is she settling for second best? For the scraps the world lets her have?

"That doesn't seem like freedom," he comments, and he doesn't mean to sound so bitter at her reluctant positivity.

"Are you ever, really, free?" Ally questions him.

_Are they, really?_

"That's a loaded question, especially when we're about to step into possible entrapment," he considers.

Ally looks ahead; it's just a couple of blocks to go by his own calculations.

"When we go in there, don't get creative, don't stray from the script. This is not the time to get inventive unless there's really a need," she warns, almost reading from an invisible script left over by his partner.

"How do I know if there's a need?"

And how does he manage when if there is a need, he'd be better off letting her make the decisions regarding a situation he's never faced and ruthlessness he's never lived?

She considers him and smirks again, that little smirk that he's learned to identify as her defiance invitation. She would be such a great character in his books…

Ally turns around and picks up her initial stance, dusting off the moment and donning her invisible Super Girl cape.

Her words are carried by the wind, and promise of challenging times ahead.

"With these guys, you'll know."


	24. Chapter 24

Beckett and Mulder exit his sedan; they'd left the precinct the minute that Diana Fowley had confirmed that they had managed to arrange this meeting, leaving Skinner behind to coordinate the remaining steps of the plan with Esposito and Ryan. Their ride had been silent, filled with nervous energy and anticipation, and a whole load of hesitation on her part. She dreaded this, the handicap of the completely unforeseen.

They park in one of the nearby structures by W 95th St. and she immediately feels the paranoia creeping in… Is this one of their designated safe places? Should she even bring that up? She doesn't want their plans exposed now that they're so close, and she's had her cruiser bugged in the past… but this is not her cruiser, it's a state of the art sedan and she doubts she'll be able to imagine how many safeties have been installed thanks to Mulder's own paranoia.

She still checks the perimeter as she walks, alert to any weird shadow, shape or sound.

"You're fine. They know we're coming, so no need to avoid prying eyes." He says not even meeting her eyes. _Used to it_ , she thinks.

"Let me do the talking, okay?" Mulder requests when they walk away from the paying booth and she cannot help the hitch in her breath; it's unnerving to let go of her commanding position. She knows is not a sexist thing, or that he thinks she's a subpar diplomat, she knows is irrational to believe she can carry out a negotiation with people she cannot even begin to profile, she knows that he's the one that has to do it, still… it stings.

"I don't know how I feel about that," she admits, and for lack of better wording, she doesn't really know. She only know it hurts, but it's an irrational burn. She'd like to have a name for that creeping feeling that's infusing her veins with worry, but she doesn't, because she doesn't want to keep dwelling on the fact that she doesn't trust the man she should. If she plans to bring back the man she loves, she _has_ to trust him. "You didn't share with the class last time, and I honestly can't deal with any more half truths…"

They walk side by side along West End Ave, the flurries dancing in front of them as the wind picks up, howling and cold with the proximity of the river. The cold is sobering, it has that effect on her sometimes, like a cold shower; it steels her resolve, as if it were possible to make her even more determined. Her guard is up. This is what happens.

If her guard were down… well, that's another story.

"If you want me to keep trusting you, we're going to have to go full disclosure on this," Beckett adds and she doesn't mean to make it sound like a warning but perhaps this is what needs to be done.

"I thought I had. Then again, I don't think you want that." Mulder looks at her as they stop at a corner to wait for their turn to cross. "You'd think you'd be sick of the topsy-turvy reality I live."

"You don't know me well enough," she scoffs. The light changes and she walks, with a punishing strut that brings a psychological upper hand to her defiance. She's being a brat, she knows it. But she needs this, a fictitious balance that will only serve to maintain her need to be in command… have the last word… Power is a feeling she knows helps her to keep it together, even when she knows she's lying to herself.

"This is the place," Mulder announces as they approach an ornate building, its opulence a showmanship of the kind of people that occupy its spaces. A distinguished doorman meets them at the entrance taking in their names and destination; they're on the list, they're expected, they know they're here.

They are walking into the lion cave.

The elevator doors open and the doorman has remotely set it to its destination: the Penthouse.

"I guess that tradition calls for wealth if you're part of an evil conspiracy," she cannot help but comment as the car begins its gentle climb, its walls covered with polished and rich walnut, ornate gold trimmings and a beveled mirror that is an art piece on its own. The details in gold leaf and the age itself of the piece adding to the effect as she briefly catches her reflection: she looks tired even under this soft and warm lighting, and she makes a promise for when this is all over… she'll reward herself with a hot bath and a nap, a long one, ensconced in Rick's protective embrace. She has to believe that's a moment that's soon to come. She has to.

"These are the old money folks of all conspiracies." Mulder checks his phone, absentmindedly locks it and pockets it back into his coat. Kate nods, imagining what it is to be part of that royalty. _The old conspiracy_ and what it would mean to be in any place of this feeding ladder. She's not unfamiliar to the existence… of conspiracies, that is, but hers is far more pedestrian in comparison.

"Here, just in case." Mulder hands her a Colt semi-automatic while he checks his own 9mm. "It's loaded with magnetite rounds."

"What does that mean?" She checks it, making sure there isn't a misfeed and unlocking the magazine to verify that indeed the rounds do look different.

"It means that if we're to walk into an ambush, this is the only thing that _may_ stop them," Mulder explains, ushering her to put the magazine back into the gun.

The elevator dings, the doors open and Mulder is the first to exit, ahead of her and it's then that she realizes that their exchange most likely was witnessed by the building's security system.

" _May?"_ she questions, catching up to him.

"I've learned over the years that these people are like Apple." Mulder strides down the hall, their steps muted by the soft plush carpeting under their soles. "They keep revamping themselves, new upgrades every season, what works one time, may not work the next."

"Fantastic," she mutters as she perches the gun in the waistband of her pants. "Won't they take these from us?"

"They'd be naive if they expect we'd come unarmed." He straightens his collar and cracks his neck. "They won't be able to detect the bullets though. They only become lethal to them once they've been shot with them."

He shoots her a sly smile that dissipates as her confused expression counters back. Mulder stops by the last door of the hall, she sees his demeanor shift ever so slightly, and then he knocks.

The door opens to reveal a tall man in a suit, because of course, that's what old money conspirators wear. Suits.

"Come along, Mr. Mulder. Ms. Beckett..." The man steps aside ushering them in.

The place is dark but its features are quite distinctive; wood paneling with detailed carvings that remind her of some of the buildings she toured while in Europe. The outlines and shapes are defined by the limited light that filters through windows, covered with luxurious and heavy treatments and the scarce pools of light provided by classy Tiffany lamps. She didn't ask before but she wasn't expecting this many suits to be part of the meeting.

"This is far more people than I brought party favors for," Mulder comments, snide, and she doesn't know if she feels better or worse knowing that he shares the same concern. She also makes the mental math; they barely have enough rounds to confront a gunfight if there was to be one.

"Don't be worried, Fox." A woman's voice emerges from the shadows and approaches their side. Diana Fowley, not even trying to conceal the fact that she presented herself as someone else the last time she was near her. She didn't talk to the woman, alright, but Beckett feels the almost unstoppable urge to bark at the woman for her deceit.

The brunette focus her attention on Mulder, of course, front and center, with an ease that can only come from numerous encounters with a person, a familiarity and a poise that speaks to the vestiges of those relationships that once made them bond.

"We've talked the situation over, we believe you're doing the right thing. We're pleased that you've finally come to your senses."

_We have… We believe… We are…_

If there was any other moment where she felt that she was entering a cult, the condescending tone of the woman makes it even more disturbing.

"But it doesn't mean that you trust me enough." Mulder meets the woman's eyes with the slightest smile. "I can tell you're not quite convinced."

Knowledge, regardless of time and the nature of a person, never falters. The battle of wills between the two of them, the war being waged in their eyes is quite spectacular, and then the darkness makes sense. For as much as she feels intimidated by it, walking into an unfamiliar setting, the shadows hide the fears and telltale signs that these people may expose. They're artful at this, you cannot cheat an old _fox_ it seems… or can you?

One of the elderly men steps out of his hide out and takes a seat by the nearest leather armchair. He plays with the thick cigar, gyrating it between his thumb and index fingers, and taking a drag.

"I'm sure that you understand that after almost twenty years and quite ferocious fighting on your part and everyone related to you, we're bound to find it a little outlandish that you've finally agreed to deal." His voice is deep, his features ghostly, bathed by the warm flood of the window beside him. He's stocky, his accent definitely European, or even Middle Eastern, but he's Caucasian, with hair and facial hair as white as it comes. "What's with the change of heart? Spender couldn't convince you, neither could Krycek nor Marita- or any of your past associates… Will you tell us the truth, Mr. Mulder?"

The names are not familiar to her, but obviously they are to him; the flutter of his facial muscles as a reaction to the mention is a sure sign. Were they past enemies or friends? Allies, or the ones that made his life what it is today? A nightmare… a never-ending nightmare...

"That's a funny choice of words," Mulder scoffs, keeping his temper in check, looking past Diana and straight into the man's eyes, " _tell 'you' the truth_ , when I have been seeking the same answer from you for so many years."

No one reacts to the stab. The tension in the room is thick but at the same time, if it weren't for the almost imperceptible rustle of clothing or the quietest hum of the AC, she could swear they were alone in the room.

"You're right. Even _I_ would be suspicious, but the fact of the matter is that we've been running for far too long for a futile solution." Mulder continues. "In my conversation with Diana, I agreed to turn over the members of the cult _if and only if_ we can come to terms to certain agreements, including my power of decision when it comes to the future involvement of my son with your cause."

There's a shift in the room, muted whispers and another man approaches a wet bar behind Kate, fixing his scotch and sizing her up. She's sure that if Castle were there, he'd have a million and one comparisons as to how this reminds him of many imagined scenes from _The Sopranos_ or _The Godfather_ … hell, at this point he'd probably throw in a comparison with _The Lion King_. She makes a mental note for later. Because there will be a 'later'.

"That's a somewhat tall order. I hope you understand why it comes to us on a surprising note," the stocky man comments, sharing looks with his counterparts. "You cannot expect us to believe that you will be so available to be part of our quest, we may seem old but we're not that gullible."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Mulder says and this wins him an eyebrow raise from the brunette that's moved to his left. A warning it seems. "I know exactly who you are, I believe the problem between us all along has been that you've failed to know who am I."

Beckett appreciates how much this quest is about honor. These men, old as they are; Mulder - with the weight of his experiences on his shoulders, they've battled over honor… over the privilege to carry a silent fight full of sacrifices, full of decisions that speak of legacy and a scope of repercussions that could extend far beyond their lifetimes.

"There comes a point in this fight where even the most resilient of warriors has to make a pass and sacrifice the quest for what really matters." Mulder's voice is full of wisdom. Sober and challenging. He's not here to bend over and bury his knee to the ground. He's not waiving a white flag, but Kate wonders if they realize that.

A slender man speaks, even older than the previous two, definitely Canadian. "So you'd be willing to cooperate with us to fend of the threat, make use of those… abilities –"

"You mean make use of my son…" Mulder corrects him and it's almost confusing to hear him do so. It feels wrong, conflicted reactions brew inside her, because in her book the accumulated age in this room may force her act like her upbringing told her to. To respect your elders… but what kind of elders are these? Mulder stands his ground, crossing his arms, protective but defiant and checking with Diana from time to time. "I'd be willing to negotiate his involvement to an extent. Let's be honest here; it is in your best interest to neutralize the cult by diminishing their flanks, and getting a hold of Curtis Weaver, using him to get to the other cells."

The stocky elder nods his understanding, takes another drag.

"If we turn them over, and along the way, get my son out of the picture and Mr. Castle out of any threat, we would all win." Mulder checks with her at the mention of her partner's name, a silent acknowledgment that he knows she's still there, that's she's an equal party in this battle. "With the cult crippled in their spirits and abilities, we'd neutralize the unstable part of this formula."

The raspy voice of a woman intervenes this time, but her back is to them, she seems younger though equally involved in this group.

"Excuse my distrust, Mr. Mulder, but why should we believe your intentions this time around? Why can't you do the work yourself? Why the offer?" She doesn't even turn to them to wait for an answer, her attention fixated on the sight outside the room.

Mulder takes a deep breath, collecting his thoughts and briefly pinching the bridge of his nose. Kate is at odds of how long and how much resistance he was expecting to encounter, and she internally smirks at how surreal it is that this is turning into some kind of town meeting… asking permission to live or die. She scans the room, studying the demeanor of the remaining thirteen bodies that haven't engaged them, her senses alert.

"Because my proposition needs of your resources to be able to work. We both benefit from the cult being out of the picture."

Stocky trades a look with Slender and their resistance is evident. She senses it, Diana senses it, and so does Mulder.

"Yes, we will be part of your… consortium - but the non negotiable part is that… we need to reside outside of American soil."

A flurry of whispers and groans fill the room, and even Fowley turns to him, searching for his attention, grabbing his bicep in a gesture of further intimacy that even makes Kate's stomach lurch.

"This changes the conversation, Fox," Diana says with a tinge of impatience behind her controlled hush. "All of the available facilities, all of the places we'd need to—"

"That's another thing. William is not to become a lab rat." Mulder squares her, decisive, showing his fangs at the woman. Figuratively, she thinks as her imagination fills the interaction and she mentally kicks herself for all these habits she surely picked up from Castle. "Whatever is to be done, it won't be part of a surgical or experimental list of procedures. William is to remain whole, untouched, and his collaboration will be done with complete and voluntary use of his faculties."

Even Kate knows that this request comes as a sour note to what these people expect to accomplish by getting their hands on the boy. This is one of the main reasons she is in this situation, to protect him, to steer him away from the people that don't see him as a person but as a mere tool. She feels as if their ailment has come full circle, because ever since last night… it's become _theirs_ … there's a bigger mission between them than just eliminate and decimate flanks, but to actually persevere at ensuring the life of someone that never chose to become who he turned out to be.

And then had to learn to be it.

"You want the boy, you negotiate with the boy, you learn from what he wants to teach you, but he's not to become a hostage or a lab rat." Kate does her best to assess the reactions around her, calm, under the knowledge that Mulder doesn't plan that it will ever come to that.

Dead silence fills the room, her senses alert and her skin bursts, prickly with anticipation. She grows weary by the second, her hand slowly making her way to her hip where the bulk of the cold metal grazes her skin, until the woman by the window turns to them. Her features now exposed, the lines speak of a person that surely circles the seventies, with such a severity in her features that she would have pegged her for the devil headmistress of some hellish boarding school.

"So what is your proposition when it comes to this operation?" the woman says taking a step, with a tasteful walking stick that aids her pace. "I take it, Detective Beckett, this is where you'd come into play?"

The sudden address to her catches Kate off guard, and she checks with Mulder almost as if asking permission to speak. He doesn't urge her, but he doesn't stop her either. She is indeed here for a reason, and the uneasiness that had invaded her earlier, not being in charge, being in the dark about this situation and this group, now seems like a silly and quite immature knee jerk reaction on her part. She hardly has them anymore these days, but these are rookie reactions… stubborn reactions she thought she was over with. Perhaps this is the last growing pain.

"We've arranged it so that all the emergency services in the area are under our lead," Beckett begins, "We've stressed that this is an important operation with the Bureau that requires that everyone moves in only under our orders, that way fending off any unexpected intrusion to our plans."

The room listens, attentive, and she feels all of their eyes are examining her statements for any mistake. The last time she felt like this was at that brief evaluation at 1PP. As much as she'd like to advance in her career, she dreads the corporate, stiff attention that those meetings hold. But she continues. Captains and Commissioners and Chiefs seem _so very_ non-threatening compared to these people.

"As we speak, we're infiltrating the cult to have inside information of their layout and operational capabilities."

As they stand in this room full of sinister types, Castle and Ally risk their necks walking into the hands of people just as dangerous and ruthless as the ones beside her and she can't ignore the ironic coincidences. Whatever they achieve in their own missions might be putting the other in danger. It's a cruel balance.

"What we need from you is tactical support that would allow us to not expose the NYPD and FDNY forces to events that raise more questions."

"You need our super-soldiers, that's all you want," the old woman points out, cutting to the chase.

"We need a strike team that knows what they're dealing with, who the targets are, and the real danger behind this all," Mulder intervenes this time.

"Why should we believe that we wouldn't be walking into an ambush ourselves?" The stocky man questions, slowly rising from his chair.

"We'd have the element of surprise and their weaknesses exposed," Diana cuts in, and Kate didn't expect it. She's slightly confused about Diana's role in this negotiation. Whose interests will she care for?

"No, I mean, why should we trust _you_ , Mulder? Or Detective Beckett for that matter," the man rebukes. "You'd be the one facilitating this information, why should we take any of it as the truth?"

"You want a warranty," Beckett says, picking up on the man's unspoken request.

"I say we need one." The slender man speaks. "We both do."

Mulder nods and checks with both the women by his side. It still makes Kate uneasy that Fowley's opinion is being taken into consideration; it's not fair, it's not a clean, bilateral, uninfluenced deal.

"I think you know very well that in this business we don't work with notaries," the stocky man states, letting the words sink in. And even if they did come to a written agreement, which court will hold this outlandish trial? "Our word will have to be enough on our end."

Mulder nods after a while, examining each of the members of this group; they wait for his answer, to move forward, to decide, to give judgment as to what their lives could become. This is the trial they face.

"You deliver a group of your people that can act as the strike team, undermine them and take your pick of the members you want to keep," Mulder instructs as a way of acceptance of their ways, an unspoken agreement that they'll play ball. "Deliver us two of the casualties so we can keep our end of the deal with the NYPD."

Somewhere in the back of her mind she considers the moment this all ends, and how is she supposed to uphold the honor of her badge, knowing that she's cheated all its values for this 'mission'.

Mulder continues his enumeration.

"Mr. Castle is to be delivered to us—"

"Alive…" Kate interjects, stern; she has to make sure he doesn't become a victim of the crossfire.

"Alive, and _unharmed_ as a part of this deal too." Mulder continues, reinforcing Beckett's interruption, leaning towards her, letting her know that he's not forgotten that he owes her as well. "None of the members of my team are to be deliberately harmed."

"Our internal deal with the NYPD we'll mind on our own. You will set up a satellite mission that can allow us to be outside of the United States… in the Middle East."

Mulder finishes and Kate hears one or two frustrated sighs on the back of the room; one man exits, the door closing loudly behind him in frustration. How many times have they argued about capitulating to Mulder's desires? Have they ever? Does this mean that there's a portion of them that could actually agree to these terms?

She doesn't have to wait much for an approximate response to her musings.

"You will deliver the information, allowing us to approach the strike with you," the elderly woman starts, her voice infused with the halo of a warning. Her eyes meet Kate's even in the dim light. She knows that she can sense her hesitation, her reticent energy, and perhaps a likeness in their own resolve to get their means. The elder grips the handle of the walking stick even stronger, her eyes focusing now on Fowley. "At the moment of the strike, Diana will accompany your son and keep custody with a member of your team. You will join us after the strike has been settled, and we'll keep to your demands, so you better be ready to deliver."

"Seems as fair as this can be…" Mulder concedes and Diana seems satisfied by the turn of events.

The attendees rise from their seats, exiting past them, leaving the stocky man and the woman in the room for one final stand, one last silent warning.

The woman regards Diana, and she nods, respectfully. Beckett makes a mental note, of how in some twisted way, this reminds her so much of the power play at the precinct sometimes.

"We'll be in touch," the woman says to Mulder as she exits slowly and dignified.

"I'd never thought I'd live to see the day your father's dreams materialized," the man says, looking at Mulder; his features transfix at the comment, filling his eyes with a variation of rage she hadn't seen.

"Which father are you referring to?" Mulder counters, defiant and struggling to keep his emotions in check, if the white across his knuckles is any sign of the turmoil brewing inside. "The one that gave me life or the one that actually allowed me to live?"

"You say that as if they're mutually exclusive," the man regards him with a sickening smirk, and she thinks that Mulder might just lose it and let his impulses run free. But the man walks away, strong with the bravery that his taunt has fueled him with, leaving them behind, with a sweet-sour taste in the back of her throat.

Kate didn't know she had been holding her breath until it escapes her lips, releasing the pent up adrenaline that courses through her veins, an involuntary shake beginning in her left hand. Just like the times she's fought a flare of her own traumas and emotional triggers. With how poised and controlled Mulder appears, she can only imagine how much hatred he holds for these people that he can barely control himself.

He cracks his neck again, and pushes the heels of his hands to his eyes, letting a deep breath out himself, before turning to them.

"It'll just be a couple more hours, stay glued to your phone," Mulder warns, tired, and Diana nods in agreement. The tone is almost cold, but he's trying, very hard, to keep the diplomacy on the surface. Beckett and he start their way out, no further pleasantries required but Fowley reaches for Mulder's elbow.

"Fox… thank you," she says barely above a whisper. "I knew you still knew who I really am."

Mulder nods, reflexive, and searches her eyes, distancing himself from the woman and leading them out of the room.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing," Kate begins as they wait outside the elevator. "Do you really think they'll respect this deal?"

"There were a lot of _written_ agreements between the lines that went unsaid in that room, Detective Beckett."

The bell of the elevator announces its arrival and unrest grows in her chest, the bile rising and her heart picking up the pace. She doesn't like this uncertainty, so many variables left up to fate and luck.

"They won't live up to their word, and they suspect that neither will I so… I'm counting on it," Mulder continues as the elevator begins its descent. "You spend enough time running from the hyenas and eventually you learn how to think like one."

She swallows thickly, because she doesn't want to become prey, she has enough hanging over her head to add to the list of people that are actively betting on her demise… Bracken and 3XK are enough of a threat, the everyday assassin out there is enough.

Silence accompanies the rest of the trip to the lobby, both of them still unwinding, trying to make sense of the agreement that they had just accepted… or not. Because that is actually the case.

The brightness of the snow hurts her eyes when they step outside; it has piled up during the time that they have been inside the luxurious building. They walk slowly, the snow crunches under their soles as they advance up the street.

"Beckett... I don't know the truth – not anymore," Mulder confesses, almost to himself, it almost sounds like he doesn't even intend for the voice to carry to her ears, "...and I think that somewhat they don't know it either."

She nods absentmindedly; this fight, this quest, has far more layers than she's willing or prepared to uncover.

"I've certainly given up in trying to find it. It doesn't make sense anymore. It's a futile objective." Mulder continues, and she can see in his face the struggle to hide the defeat that he feels but won't even admit exists.

She won't allow it. She needs the clarity, no more half assumptions and truths. Kate grabs him by the arm, slowing his pace.

"I know you're focused on your son, but aren't we also worth saving? What's the point of this double cheat? " Beckett questions, genuinely.

He smiles, the leftover sadness dissipating to a cleverness written on a smirk. "You forget, Detective, that you've become the fifth angle."


	25. Chapter 25

He's never liked the fact that lately their lives resemble that of hyenas. Hiding out, waiting for the prey to be caught in some stupid trap, and then feast on it. That's how it feels lately, like they're not the ones dictating the pace of this game and the circumstances are the ones screwing it all up. They're not hunters anymore, especially after their last attempt.

But now, she's here.

"They're okay. No guns, no tracking devices, nothing." Hernan, his right hand, confirms as he enters his space. The room had been fashioned as his refuge since they had first occupied this dilapidated building four months ago. It was dark, and had poor air circulation, but it was the safest place in the whole building. Away from windows, away from prying eyes. Paranoia had shaped Curtis Weaver into the man he is today. If people only understood.

"Double checked," Hernan says to appease him, reading the reticence on him as he paces behind his desk. He's a cautious, caged animal, alright. And he's thankful that his cohort has known him for enough years now to understand his extreme measures sometimes.

"She can be sneaky," Curtis warns, remembering the last time that he had crossed paths with Ally. _She can be sneaky_ , perhaps that's an understatement. Back when she was part of their family, the girl had been one of his most precious gifts… she seemed like a gift, with her amazing faculties that kept expanding before his curious eyes. But as those powers expanded, so did her awareness, and her ambition. Misplaced judgement where there should had been none. She let herself be swayed by the wrong points of view of this battle, and he lost her at some point along the way before he even realized.

It was his mistake, to underestimate her, to not realize she wouldn't be the obedient and pleasing girl forever, but instead, she'd turn into one of his most competent and daring challenges.

"Believe me, I know of her ways." Hernan laments, rubbing his temple and briefly running his fingers over the scar on the side of his head. Had he stood half an inch to the right, he'd be playing poker with some cherubs; a jagged scar was left to remind him of the girls' dangerous aim.

"Who's the guy?" Curtis asks as he finally allows himself to take a seat. He is six foot two inches, long legs and muscular arms covered with a long, dark henley. His presence is not one to be passed along, even when in quiet examination, his energy always towered over those shaky and insecure young members of his team. He loved doing that, letting the sole physical burden of him do the work that menacing words could only achieve half way. Leave it up to their own interpretation, because their own fears act better as a method of control… and he doesn't even have to move a finger about it. He leans back in the chair, training his eyes on Hernan.

"He says that he's a writer, and he wants to talk to you." The tone of suspicion in Hernan's voice sets him off.

"What for?" This doesn't smell good. Doesn't smell good at all.

"Our _quest_?" Hernan crosses his arms over his buff chest, defensive.

"That sounds laughable…" Curtis says letting out a cackle, the sound bouncing off the he's approaching them after anything that came out of Ally, he can't possibly have a good and positive perspective of their mission. "What's his name?"

"Richard Castle," Hernan informs and Curtis is immediately taken aback. Because that name is familiar. As familiar as the books that he's spied on his new girlfriend's nightstand.

"As in crime novelist, Richard Castle?" Hernan nods and his suspicions grow. The fact that Ally came back raised a flag; the fact that she came back with him is alarming. "Send them in."

Hernan nods, weary but obedient. He owed this man his life, and they all owed him the path to righteousness they were walking. Poking his head outside the room, he gives the instruction to the sentinels keeping guard outside and they're brought in.

Castle walks in behind Ally, the man seems calm and so does she. And while the expectation in their eyes is evident, there's no blatant fear. Curtis wonders about this, what are their real intentions?

* * *

"We can do without the ties," Ally comments raising her bound wrists. They'd walked up to the gate, banged three times and walked away from it, placing themselves in the middle of the snowy court in front of the building. They waited, patiently until they heard the distinct cock of guns around them, and men slowly approaching them from all sides. They were promptly pushed to the floor and manhandled until immobilized to their liking. She doesn't blame them, if she recalls right, she killed three of them with her bare hands, seven more with the aid of her trusty double edged knife, and then there was the 9mm.

Behind them were the days that the cult believed in mostly harmless resistance. They would do whatever it took to keep their objectives aligned. Including killing and kidnapping whoever got in their way. That's what happened that day. As she'd fought back; they'd fought back. She was very different from the scared and confused girl that had once been part of this "family" - Doggett and Mulder had trained her to take action and defend herself, bringing the training that the cult had imparted on her to a state of refinement that made her a lethal weapon. But she was only allowed to respond in kind; she had honor to uphold. She would never crawl to their level. Never.

"I thought you cursed me out of your life," Curtis states as he rises from his seat, "on your way out of the camp, while you shot many of our friends."

"People change," she responds, never looking away. That would be allowing him to see her weak, and she was never to be a weakling again.

He rounds his desk, coming closer to her, too close for comfort and she can sense Castle's tension growing as his body shifts next to hers.

"You don't change." Curtis says, his voice just above a whisper, and his breath hitting her cheek. Years before that might have sparked emotions beneath her skin, lit those wanton needs that brewed within her. Right now, the faint smell of mint and his own personal musk makes her nauseated.

She meets his eyes, and hopes that he doesn't sees it as well. There's no love left behind.

"I'm allowed to change my opinion of things," Ally responds, and he steps away, shaking his head, perhaps in disbelief. Curtis meets Hernan's eyes, a silent communication between them that they know very well is useless, because she can read their fear, their hesitation, much better than they can read themselves.

"So what about the ties?" She asks again.

"Not yet," he moves now to Castle, meeting his height, a power stance that's meant to intimidate but the author doesn't flinch. "So they tell me you're a writer… May I ask, how did you end up in this tangle? Following this one?"

"We arrived after the shooting happened." Ally doesn't let him respond. As agreed, she'll do some of the talking and he doesn't stray away from their plan. He'll only explain menial things, that won't raise suspicions, well, any more than the ones that they've already managed to rise. "Mr. Castle was there at the time."

"I - I've been shadowing a police detective… we were called to the scene last night," Castle adds, innocent enough, charming enough, like he knows how to do. "Ally told me that you could elaborate on William's story, and I'd love to get the feel of it."

"We heard about the shooting, such a shame…" Curtis comments, and Ally has to fight hard not to scoff at his ridiculous evasion technique.

"Three lives is quite a loss, especially when a child is involved," says Castle. _Three lives_ , the detail dropped in according to the plan.

"Is William doing okay?" Curtis asks.

"Well… no?" Castle responds. "He got shot on the scene… he died on site."

They can both see the wheels shifting and the gravity of this piece of information settling in on him.

"What are you talking about?" His tone is incredulous, his nose flaring, and his eyes grow angrier by the second.

"William, he died in the crossfire." Ally is the one to respond. Solemn. Because this is how you play this part. He could have been shot. They were just lucky.

"Hernan, take Mr. Castle to one of the dormitories. I need a minute with her." The bulky man moves toward Castle who checks with Ally about this, trying to mask his insecurity.

"Its Okay," she reassures, nodding along, and the man takes Castle by the arm, leading him out.

"What is this Ally?" He jumps at her the minute the door closes behind the men. "What the fuck kind of charade is this?"

"No charade." He doesn't affect her, she won't give him that pleasure, to see her struggling to keep the contents of her stomach down, to keep the revolting nausea that he provokes forgotten in the back of her mind. She neutralizes herself, her instincts, her hatred.

"So you're out to get us?" His voice rises just a level, he's playing the game too. "What is this? Both of my guys said they only shot the guardians."

"No, Curtis…" She explains, somewhat resigned, as is part of her plan to make him believe her deception. "He died, I saw him; he had hid in the kitchen, by the time they found him, it was too late."

Curtis holds her gaze for a second, and if she had looked away she would have missed the moment that he started to break, still tough, sheltering himself from her, because he knows what she can do, read him like a book; regardless of her not being what they wished she would have been, she still owns these powers, those that brought her to him.

"He's dead," she repeats. And that sets him on a spin.

"I don't believe you, it can't be true." Curtis negates, shaking his head, resolute but growing in his desperation. "The guys-"

"Bring them in, ask them again; they had no control over the shooting," Ally interrupts his stream of thought. "It is a miracle no more people died."

"I can't ask them! They're dead too..." He screams, frustrated. So, there are more casualties. _Not a great loss_ , she thinks, and it hits her that her bitterness only grows exponentially the more time she spends with this man. But that's not the part she's playing today.

"I guess there were losses on both sides…" she says, almost convincing. The silence between them extends farther than she had wanted, making her squirm, fearing the ideas that dance in Curtis' head.

"I still can't believe you. This is a setup," he says finally, the doubt natural within him. She's not to be trusted. But that doesn't trouble her.

"Check my phone," she suggests, defiant.

"What?"

"Check my phone, I took a video and pictures. I knew I would need proof eventually, for you or our _other friends_. So there you have it."

He looks at her, dubious still, but he plays ball. After calling out to one of the guards for their confiscated things, he inspects her phone, the video they'd so carefully crafted there for him to see. As the images play on the screen, Curtis Weaver's face contorts in pain. His dream slowly dissolving before him, a quest that had taken over his life… gone with a few images.

She can see that he feels guilty, all those grudges and self-accusations running through his mind while he continues to watch, thoughts that scream in his head as she has a front seat to them. Her gift is such a privilege sometimes. If she were in any other situation, she'd make a comment, celebrate it, flaunt that he made a mistake. _Not yet. Let it flow._

"I'm not out to get anyone, I'm out," she clarifies as he sits defeated before her, and she tries her best to also play her sadness card. "This whole thing, this whole quest, it's useless. Especially after last night."

"I just, I can't -" Curtis says after a while, his shoulders slumped forward. He lifts his eyes to meet Ally's and there's tears trapped on his lashes, waiting to spill. "There has to be another answer to this."

And there it is, her golden opportunity.

"Why? Because it can't be that you're involved in the demise of your own belief?" She says it calmly… letting each word sink in.

"Shut up," Curtis says through gritted teeth, his knuckles blanching with the rage contained within.

"This is why I came back, Curtis." Ally explains, turning it around. "They were also convinced that William would be invincible, eternal, but there's no such thing. You were the only one that believed that he was a mortal, that he just needed to be away from Mulder's guidance. I've seen things, their ambition, their true colors... Maybe William is dead, but I'm not."

Curtis rounds his desk again, opening one of his drawers and pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

"You're not it, Ally," he says, dismissive, opening the bottle and taking a swig.

"I'm not saying I am, but I exist for a reason," Ally pleads, and she commends herself for keeping any stray emotion in check, she needs to gain leverage with him, make him believe that she's something to protect, it will be for their advantage. "Wasn't it you that said that I was given these gifts for a purpose? That my mission was larger than my own selfish wishes?"

He considers her words - his words - being spewed back at him, this time used as a tool… not that he's aware by the looks of things. Ally strains to continue reading him, for any sign of doubt, that she's not doing enough to convince the man that once played her for a fool, that broke her spirit, that made her almost a washed up piece of dirt whose place was by the side of the road.

Just a few more hours.

"I had to escape them, Curtis." Ally continues in her deceit. "You have no idea the level of the atrocities… I was wrong - I just, it just went against everything I believed in… Everything that I-"

But then there's a shift.

"Took you long enough to figure that out!" He spits back at her, frustration and hurt and anger welling and bursting out. "I don't believe you, Ally."

_Expected_ , she thinks. He's not that easy, so she takes a cleansing breath, _patience._ Play his weaker points.

"Curtis, I think you helped the prophecy…" His ego will always be his demise. _Always._ "We were just too blind and benevolent to see it. - William, he needed to die."

She had remained still, on her spot, but she chances this moment to approach him and he allows it. She crowds him now, her expression remains soft, almost nurturing, and this is a shift that he might not recognize in her. For Curtis Weaver, she was always that girl he could dominate, but what if she were now the person that could lick at his wounds, find understanding in… His mind screams for a balm and she could play that part as well.

"It's better this way, he's neither in their hands or ours," she says, her voice just above the caress of a whisper, like a secret between lovers and the image makes her stomach lurch again. " _They_ will come, if what you believe is true, and nothing will stand in their way. Things may be different, but if its the truest truth, it will happen."

_They will come_ , just not who he expects.

His eyes meet hers and lower to her lips. She knows he's about to kiss her. And she lets him. His lips meet hers and it feels every bit as painful as she remembers, every bit an unwelcome trespass to her senses, every graze a violation to her well constructed self respect. _Just a few hours now._

He breaks the kiss and his eyes meet hers again, the unrest evident in his mind.

"I don't - I cannot reason with you about this right now." Curtis puts even more distance between them, grabs a pocket knife from his drawer and cuts her binds. "You can stay for now, I need time to regroup."

Ally nods, circling the desk away from him, rubbing her wrists, playing the weak damsel part so well… She won't push, right now, but she can't be too lax, either. "I understand. What about Castle?"

"We'll see. I'll think about it," he says. Any other person would worry her, but Curtis is an egomaniac, he'd want this.

"Can I have my smokes back?" she asks, bringing levity to their conversation, smiling coily at him.

"See? things don't change," he shakes his head, smiling back and grabbing her smokes from the pile of their things, throwing the pack at her.

"I'm the same person. A different person wouldn't have my convictions, a different person wouldn't have returned," Ally says after a while, pocketing her smokes and trying to connect with him on a deeper level. She will play him. Revenge will be sweet. "I know I betrayed you, I know I deserved what you did, but give me an opportunity to prove my worth."

He meets her eyes again, calling Hernan back in. He takes her away. She may have changed, and so has he, but Curtis Weaver has something ingrained in him that will never be different. He may have thought, and still think, that William was the second coming… but deep down, he always thought that he could rejoice in the fact that he was the one that never wavered in his conviction for this crusade.

She will play that card. She will sell the one last chance to tell the world his truth. And he will be his own worst nightmare.


	26. Chapter 26

"She'll be alright." Monica says, breaking the thick silence that has set between them ever since they dropped them off. They'd entered the hideout they'd found and begun setting up their equipment, busy with their task, avoiding the worry that oozed out of John.

"I know," he responds, playing it cool, but it's a lie and she can see right through him. "Okay, fine, but you can't blame me for worrying."

She stops setting up the tripod for their rifle by the window and takes a deep breath.

"I -"

"Don't. I'm not blaming you." John walks up to her, cutting her off, but still keeping some distance between them. "I don't regret staying. I don't want you to feel like I could choose her or anyone over you. It's just…" His words fail him, they always have. John Doggett is a man of action. He proves what he means; by staying, by running, by grounding her with touches that leave her feeling that she could die in that very moment and be completely alright with it.

"Look - I'm not blind." Monica bridges the gap between them, carefully taking his hand and kissing the rough and scarred knuckles of his right hand. They're strong, beautiful hands, covered with freckles that she's counted many times, and soft blonde hairs that frame his hands delicately yet quite manly. "I know that rehashing everything in the last few hours for the sake of sharing our story opened old wounds that you never want to talk about. I know you like to tough it out, and forget distant realities like Barbara and Luke… what our own child would have been like…"

John can't stand to look her in the eye, and she knows it's not because he's ashamed, but because the hurt within him is ten times greater if he sees that pain reflected in her own eyes. And it would be so easy for him to see it now, when tears have welled up and threaten to fall, leave their leave wet trails down her cheeks. Like they have so many times before. Many tears have been shed about these memories.

"I see the way you see Ally, with that mix of big brother love and fatherly protectiveness…" He nods at her words, allowing himself the recognition, as he leans against the wall behind him. "And funnily enough, had I not convinced you not to go with her, with them, I would have still understood… why you'd do it."

John meets her eyes this time, searching out the recognition in her, drinking in the understanding and sincerity straight from the tap, and she relishes in the glimmering blue depths staring back as the light filtering from the windows play with his captivating irises. She kisses his eyes, and he breathes her in, feeding from the skin of her neck like a lifeline; she knows that her smell drives him insane.

"I feel selfish, saying _no_ ," Monica continues as he pulls her even closer. "I adore you for living up to your promise to never leave me behind if I wasn't all in with the plans, but what I want you to understand too is that you don't have to be the only one that puts their life on the line…"

She lifts his chin to meet her eyes once again.

"Share the load. It might sound mechanical and even detached, but right now, we only have a few of us left… if the worst happens…" Her words get caught in her emotions, that she's worked so hard to keep in check, only to fail miserably.

"We'd still have some bullets left," John says, completing her thoughts and confirming her meaning.

"I know this is our fight too, but still, I'd like to stretch out this lease on life we've been given if we can." She smiles, seductively, because if this is the last opportunity to live a few moments more, to share a few adventures, or a few thrilling minutes more to light their skin alive, she's going to make it count. She won't allow it to be a melancholy thing, no, she plans to infuse him with her love, and with hope for the future. "That's what we're working for, John."

He cradles her head, angling her lips to his, caressing softly, their kiss growing hungrier by the second, deeper as he nudges the seam of her skin with the wet and hot whisper of his tongue. It's all consuming, their breaths mingling and fusing in a dance that's well known but never a dull one. It could never be between them.

"I know, I know..." he repeats as a mantra, and twists her around, pushing her body up the wall as she wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him to her, their kisses smoldering and fierce. His hands roam her thighs as he pushes against her, forcefully, almost with an angry streak to him. She welcomes it. Because she's just as desperate, needing to feel the power behind his soul, behind his life force.

He pinches her nipples, rough, and she bites him back, almost drawing blood. His moans make her dizzy and even more aroused, all of her blood driving fast to her center, as she feels the heat of them fuse through their clothes.

She knows this is not the moment, he knows this is not right, but what if there's not a next time?

His fingers tug on her waist band, and she gives thanks for a second that the pants fit loosely as he pulls them down just enough to expose her, pushing her underwear to the side. It's all so fast as he frees his pants as well, taking himself in hand and entering her. He's hard and needy, buried to the hilt, as he lets the shiver that courses through their bodies fire them up as if wrapped in a live wire.

The whimper that mewls out of her dies in his throat as the kisses continue, unquenchable, consuming them like molten lava cursing through their veins. John pumps in and out of her, gliding faster and faster as she becomes even more aroused; his thumbs find her center, and its almost too much. Too much for her instincts, too much for the emotional charge behind this coupling, too much for her overloaded senses that crackle with the mix of stimulation, her desperation, his, the fiery tendrils of desire licking her insides, building up and filling her system with the perfect orgasmic cocktail.

His nostrils flare with the effort, beads of perspiration adorning his forehead as it mingles with the dew that forms on her own. The exertion of their lungs is a rhythmic sound that sets her on a trancelike state as they soar, letting their bodies express all of the meaning that seems to escape in the absence of words. Her heel digs on his lower back and he picks up the pace even more, hitting all the spots he knows so well by now, the sensation only heightened by the roughness of the wall behind her.

She isn't aware of the tears that fall freely from her eyes until John carefully begins drinking from them, washing her clean of her suffering, letting his lips brand her with the words he won't pronounce. She clings to him, increasing the friction, clenching around him, the air is thick around them, scarce, and suddenly everything spins, intensely, her vision reduced with the shards of pleasure that shoot from her. He follows, with a couple of pumps and a muffled scream in the crook of her neck, his grip bruising on her hips, grabbing on to dear life as he releases himself in ecstasy.

It is just a few minutes, but even if it were a second, it was a second more of the uniqueness that is only them. They remain together for just one more moment, before John pulls his handkerchief and tries his best to clean the evidence of their encounter, sweet and careful as she watches his actions, and then he lowers her legs, holding her until she can find safe footing.

"I love you," Monica says, as he adjusts back her pants, and she does the same to him, careful, lovingly.

"I do too, my love." He kisses her one more time as she nods, holding back tears; she needs to get a hold of her emotions fast. He hugs her again, nuzzling her hairline, breathing her in, calming down, and then her phone goes off.

"Scully is here," she announces with a huff, recognizing the ringtone. He untangles himself from her arms, delivering one last peck to her lips, and wiping the trace of tears from her face. He returns to set up the rifle as Monica does her best to go back to her task, leaving no evidence of what just transpired.

The door of the abandoned apartment opens, and Scully and William walk in, getting rid of their gloves and shaking off the snow collected on their coats.

"Any word?" John asks, nonchalant, and Scully nods, letting out a heavy sigh.

"They met, they've agreed on our plan… I just..." She pinches the bridge of her nose, and William grabs her hand, reassuring, calling her attention, and she smiles at him, not wanting to upset him.

"Honey, why don't you grab this and have a snack while we set up?" She suggests, handing him a bag of chips and a gatorade. The boy is not particularly thrilled about the idea, but he obeys. He will know everything either way, Monica considers, but the traditional sense that they can guard him from this situation still stands. It's a fake reassurance.

"You're worried," Monica states, walking towards her, and Scully nods, briefly.

"I just don't believe that Diana buys any of Mulder's story," she confesses. "I know her, or at least what she used to be. She knows him well too, she knows what he stands for and what he would do to get his way."

John finishes setting up and joins William, distracting the boy from their conversation.

"I don't know, Scully." Monica provides, taking a seat on top of one of the heavy-duty cases. "We've changed with time, she may even be as insecure as us… being a supersoldier might not make you an insensitive being. We don't really know the scope of their… transformations. Maybe we've just had bad luck. All the supersoldiers we've run into weren't nice as humans, so why would they be any different in their …afterlife?"

Scully considers this, worrying the tip of her boot on an uneven wooden board.

"Billy Miles wasn't what he ultimately became…" she notes. The man had chased them through Washington and many states until he had found them in Georgia. The memories of that horrific night still haunt her; stranded in the middle of nowhere, fearing that William's debut in this world would also be the last breath he'd get to take. "We've yet to be proven that there's any type other than cruel assassin."

Maybe she's being too naive... again. All of these people had lives before, relationships and families and stories that tied their existences in a bow.

Even Diana Fowley… the woman's reputation doesn't lack for threatening details.

"But then it is... her." Monica remarks.

"But then it's _her_." Scully recognizes, giving in and swallowing thickly. "I shouldn't feel like this, I shouldn't toss this in the bag. I know that I'm dwelling on things that are inconsequential and I should be looking past those memories."

Her voice is just above a whisper, the confession hurtful even to herself. During the last few years, Scully has found in Monica a sounding board that filled the gap once left by her sister, left by the inability to have a closer relationship with her mother; the possibility to have a moment of sisterhood and an escape valve. Monica doesn't judge, she guides, in her funny ways, in her wise ways; the woman has also transformed in front of her, maturing and evolving in their relationship.

"When she was _alive_ \- their connection was unnerving to me, because he always caved, he always believed in her…" Scully takes a seat right next to her, combing her fingers through her hair. "Monica, it goes past jealousy… I fear that letting them know that we're here, that we have him, we've given them tools, an edge…"

"Have we really? Or is it that you feel that's the case because it was Mulder that confided in her?" Monica probes, perhaps hitting the nail on the head. "He's changed too. I'm sure that distance has put many things in perspective for him, and you're right, we've yet to know any supersoldier that hasn't turned out to be a crazy assassin. I doubt that Mulder is prone to try to prove us wrong."

"Have you met the man? That's his favorite sport." Scully scoffs, shaking her head in amusement while Monica rolls her eyes. The man _is_ a magnet to these kind of situations.

Before them, John and William engage in a friendly arm wrestling game. The two women sit in silence, enjoying the moment and allowing themselves the levity, if even for a second. It will be over soon.

"Don't get too rowdy, boys," Monica warns, and Scully smirks, looking at her cohort and noticing the tell tale piece of plaster on her jersey, reaching to pick it off of her shoulder and dusting off some of her hair. Monica blushes red as a beet, and brushes the rest of the white dust off her dark clothes, eyeing Scully, who shakes her head knowingly.

"You know… life affirming and all that," she justifies, somewhat bashful, flashes of her previous thirst with John dancing in front of her eyes. Monica has never been too demure about their private matters, but there's always that stray moment of decorum that hits her, mostly because Scully has never been as open about it as she is.

Scully sighs, amused.

"No need to excuse it, the more _life_ we can get, the better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have an immense love for the characters of Doggett and Reyes. I feel that in the show they weren't given the chance to be as great as they could have been, and sadly we didn't get to see the scope of what their own fates could bring in terms of storytelling. So, yes, I'm enamoured with the fact that I get to play with them. Also with the opportunity to have Scully come to terms to the Diana Fowley of it all.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the kind words about last chapter, indeed enjoyed them, especially since they're both original characters and I appreciate that you've hopped in.
> 
> KyinHI, I love you forever.


	27. Chapter 27

"I thought you weren't coming," Laura Johnson hushes as Ann approaches the clerk's desk in the dark basement. Johnson had been on Evidence Storage duty since the morning, only leaving the post briefly when they were called to receive the thick of the orders from Captain Gates and the couple of FBI agents. Everyone had been rattled by the aftermath of the night's events.

"It was hard getting away from Sole," Hastings laments with an eye roll. "He's really pissed off. I think it finally dawned on him that he was put on that task to keep him away from any action."

The older detective had been passed on for promotion many times; he'd ruffled feathers, missed opportunities, hadn't played nice and was way past his prime. He hadn't really gotten along with Montgomery, back when the late Captain was alive, and now under Gates' leadership, he had given up on the pursuit, it seems. While coping with that realization, he'd spent a great deal of time getting on the nerves of the younger crowd, _jealousy_ , many claimed, but Ann could see the helpless face of frustration and the reluctance to give up that last thread of hope.

"Well, you and I both know that he should have retired a long time ago." _Yes_ , he should have.

"I think after this operation, this might be it for him." Ann snickers sadly, he's not that bad, after all. "He just slammed the phone on one of the paramedic coordinators, which comes in handy, because now I'm in control of that duty, and that works perfectly for us."

"This is our skin out there," Johnson says, sobering up.

"I know, but L.T. is on this, Velasquez too." Hasting nods, sure of herself; she trusts them. They need their help for sure. This team has grown thick, apart from the eyes of the top tier of the Homicide department, they've formed quite a bond, found common ground for their goals, and instead of rivalry, they vowed to push until they can all reach their own justice goals. None of them have taken the profession for lackluster reasons. Everyone has a bone to pick with someone out there. "You just have to do your part of the deal. When you get the call, don't even look back. We'll be waiting for you on the loading dock."

"Did you figure out how to handle the cameras?" Johnson asks.

It had been a worry, but everything is falling into place. "Yes," Ann confirms. "The ping will come from upstairs, and we will only have five minutes - there won't be any feed. Just be ready, and we'll be ready for you."

Johnson nods, finding reassurance in Hastings' confidence.

They've been through thin and thick, encountering moments that have put their lives on the line many times. Back when they first started out, the sight of two attractive women in uniform had brought them many headaches, so much disrespect and hassling from perps, and rude comments from old fashioned assholes in the department. But that had quickly dissolved when they'd both learned to show their fangs and claws, proving their worth, and eventually beating the boys where it hurt the most… out in the streets.

Girls rule. Everyday. So when the question came as to how far they'd go for Detective Katherine Beckett, there was absolutely no doubt in their minds. It wasn't only loyalty out of a, sometimes immature, gender solidarity; it was also the profound respect they'd acquired for the woman. Even though discretion was one of their values, the story behind their most valued detective was no stranger to any of them. She was their natural leader, an example to follow, both in her triumphs and in her defeats, in her quest and her thirst for justice, and in her uncanny ability to be one of the boys but also _so incredibly unique_. It would be easy to envy her, but instead, the feeling she evoked was pure admiration.

Because every blow she took fueled her to keep going.

There was no hesitation in Katherine Beckett's steps, even when the world delivered more than a million reasons. Even when quitting was an option, and a reality she'd taken, she had taught them how to stand by their principles.

"Do you think she'll really become Captain?" Johnson asks, and Hastings knows exactly what she means. They've all but been expecting it, craving it.

"I don't _think_ so, I know so." The spark behind Ann's eyes matches her body language. She's always so effusive, to a point that it amuses all of them. "It may not happen tomorrow morning, but you know that ever since Montgomery left, she's the one. Gates is alright, but no dice."

The new Captain still has a lot to learn from her new department. She has the respect, but only because they're obligated. She has yet to earn the loyalty.

"I'd feel so much better if we weren't breaking the law," she says. And they will… _hardcore._ When the moment comes, they will steal precious evidence. They will load it up in one of the ambulances. They will drive the evidence to an agreed spot and they won't look back or hesitate. "What if-"

"Stop that! We're stretching the law for those that don't quite get that all the pegs don't necessarily fit the mold," Hastings says, convincingly. "Laura, this is our chance to prove our worth. Remember what we vowed in the Academy? _Be a badass to live like a badass_. This is the right thing to do."

She offers her closed fist, which Johnson meets in earnest, entertaining the ritual of their almost decade long secret handshake.

"You have such a girl crush on Beckett. Its kinda scary," Laura teases.

"You do too… and _shhh,_ no names," Ann quips back. "You know it's no girl crush, just - I'm ready to do _more_ , and if this is the only _more_ that I get to do - that we get to do - then so be it."

A moment of solemnity goes through them. The consequences of this operation are no small thing to consider. Their careers and lives are indeed on the line if anything were not to go to plan. And there's quite an opportunity for that to happen.

"You'll be a great detective," Johnson says finally. Deep down she's always considered her friend to be slightly above her level… she's always the one pushing them forward… and she envies that drive.

"Believe me, we're learning from the best," Ann reassures. "This isn't just for me, and you know it."

Perhaps this will be a road they'll continue together. In the mean time… their leader needs them to bring it on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> I love playing with characters like these! I swear they could have a spin off on their own. I constantly fantasize about their inner workings. The Rookie Blues of Castle, in a way. LT and Hastings would rock it!
> 
> Anyways, you guys were awesome about the chapter before this one. Hope you enjoy this one as well.


	28. Chapter 28

The chill of the air is biting Beckett's skin, prickling her cheeks, but she welcomes it… Contrary to what she would expect, the cold is keeping her awake, alert, sober.

They'd left the precinct when Doggett had confirmed that they were in place, and Mulder followed suit making that dreadful call. They'd slipped in waves: first, Skinner and Esposito; Gates hadn't even minded it. Mulder had entered the Captain's office to distract her with some nonsense inquiry about the precinct's body of detectives and Beckett had briefly come in to say she was going to talk to William's next-of-kin to cross some T's. Victoria Gates had nodded as she continued her download of information to Mulder, and once he'd considered she was distracted enough, he'd also slipped away and met them at their hideout.

Ryan would have to act as their sentinel. They'd eventually make a call for the NYPD & NYFD to join, but only when Beckett was sure that they would be at minimal risk.

They'd found cover in one of the empty lots in the periphery of the Cult's compound; the discarded crates and forgotten trash serving as camouflage for their group. Kate had found the perfect spot to surveil the area and Mulder had confirmed that his team had the other side covered. They only had to wait for _them_ , the ones that would do their dirty work. Now, they just needed to synchronize their strike, whenever Ally gave them the final signal to go ahead.

"All the ducks in a row?" She asks when she feels Esposito approach her.

"We're good to go. They'll be waiting across the street," Javier confirms with a nod. The help they've managed to gather thanks to his connections is one varied bunch. "I gotta tell you, girl. It looks like a scene from _The Expendables_."

She meets his eyes and snickers, shaking her head in amusement.

"That badass, huh?" Her eyebrow raises, daring, and he smiles, smug. He's so noble and faithful. It hurts her that she's put him in this position again. Breaking the law, again. Abusing his loyalty, again.

Beckett allows the frigid air to burn deeply into her lungs; she's been forcing herself to remain focused and to not allow the threat of a panic attack to overcome her. It would be so easy to let it overwhelm her… but there will be time for that later, when the fears are nothing but _could have beens_ and not an actual possibility. When Castle is by her side to ride the aftermath with her. He's learned how to cope with these moments with her, learned that they're a part of her that they can't avoid, and in doing so, has made them more sporadic, less crippling.

"Look, Espo. Thank you so much for being so understanding," she starts, not quite meeting his eyes, as they both pretend to focus on the surveillance ahead. "I know that you hate to be in the dark, and I know I owe you better…"

"Just not this time?" Javier says completing her sentence, forgiving, and evidently cutting her some slack if his forgiving tone is a sign.

"Not this time." She nods, with a sad smile, meeting his eyes now. The briefest moment goes between them, as if they're both evaluating if it's worth it to continue pulling on each of their ends.

"Yo - Don't worry about it." He's the first to speak, a cloud of steam accompanying his words. "We just have to bring him home. And pave that road for them to find their own."

The significance of his words grounds her, as she slowly nods in understanding of his own resolute objective. He gets her on so many levels and she's just so thankful that she's forged this bond with a person that will go to hell and back with her. A true warrior. It amazes her sometimes that she's allowed this privilege.

"You're an awesome brother…" Beckett recognizes as she sees the briefest blush creep up Esposito's smug cheeks. Later, he will surely say that it was frostbite and not the warm pride pinking his skin.

He playfully punches her shoulder and clicks his tongue with a snicker as he shakes his head. "Not so awesome, I let Castle get into your pants…"

Her snort is almost too loud and carefree when it comes out of her lips. "As if you or anyone else had any power to stop him from that…" Sooner or later it would have happened. There was no stopping that, even though it seemed impossible at times.

Esposito rolls his eyes in amusement, stopping the conversation when Mulder approaches them.

"Diana has confirmed that they're also in the vicinity and ready to go at our signal," he informs, pocketing his cellphone in his jacket.

"Do we know their exact location?" She asks, and she doesn't like the vagueness of the report.

"No, and I doubt that they will share," Mulder bites back, speaking to his own frustration with the lack of precision.

Javier and her share a look; what goes unsaid is universal. There's concern.

"I'd rather not fidget over arguments right now, to be honest," Mulder says, trying to ease their fears. "They're here. That's quite the showmanship of trust."

"If you say so," Esposito responds through gritted teeth as he walks away towards Skinner, resigned to not dwell on it, but Beckett knows that this is not the last that she'll hear of his worry.

"Ryan says that he's ready to go as well," Mulder confirms, and she nods. "When Ally's signal comes in, we'll share the signal, strike as needed. NYPD's strike should be coming here just as everything is over and we've secured the exchange."

She nods, that's the plan. Just a few more moments to go.

* * *

Castle fidgets in his seat. He has been sitting on one of the bunk beds since they brought him in, examining the items around him, wondering if he could finagle an alternate escape route if needed. It isn't a bad space, people live there, pictures and knick-knacks clutter some of the side tables and improvised lockers. Each part of it tells him a different story about whoever had taken the time to set them aside, as a reminder of a life elsewhere, of past existences beyond the life of this cult.

A boy not much older than Alexis had come in at one point, collected a pair of gloves and thrown him a side glance that wasn't friendly nor menacing, just full of curiosity. But he hadn't approached him. He could tell that he had been instructed to avoid any contact.

The hinges on the heavy door complain as the guard walks Ally into the room and he jumps to his feet at the sight of her.

"You okay?" he asks, and she nods, dismissive, her eyes telling him to shut it. The guard inspects the room as they stand in silence during his perusal. He turns around and toward the door, throwing Ally one last weary glance. The man doesn't trust her at all. The door closes after him with a clang, and Castle allows himself to relax, taking in a soothing, if cold, gulp of air.

"We're going to be fine. We're just going to need one more hour, give or take," Ally says as she takes seat on the bunk next to him, rubbing her wrists. "He's definitely interested, and I doubt he'll take more than thirty minutes to come stroke his ego. So do him good…"

Castle smiles; he's done this before, he'll just have to keep his sarcastic nature in check. Surely enough, Weaver will see through him if he's not playing his part.

"I was wondering, could I request that you join in on this 'interview'? _For character research_?" He asks, and it's not that it would be odd, she is, afterall, a past member of the cult, it would definitely be a normal thing to have in an investigation for any book, if he were writing a real book that is.

She smiles and he's confused by it. "You could, but why? Do you actually think you'd get something else out of it or is it that you're chickening out?"

"Pffft! You wound me." He rushes to clarify, but she knows; he is scared, just a little, and there's no sense trying to hide it from her. "It's just… if he says anything that may be a warning, a clue that goes unnoticed by me, you'd catch it, I don't know the guy like you do."

It is the truth, she once knew this man pretty well.

"Okay, okay." Ally nods assessing his idea, a smirk on her lips as she considers it. "You request it, though. I'll act like I'm not interested… plea to convince me."

"Got it." He nods, eagerly, as she pulls out her trusty pack of cigarettes. "Got 'em back?"

"Yeah. Want one?" Ally offers him the open pack, two sticks left.

"Nah, you only have one left," he dismisses, doing the math. He'd love one, but one of them is their ticket out of there… and the other, well, the girl can use it more than he really needs it.

"No, I have _two_." Ally says, picking one of the sticks, handing it to him and pulling the other one to her lips.

"What are you talking about?" He says, incredulous as he watches her light up. She doesn't respond and takes his cigarette and lights it herself. "You said…"

She waves him away, cutting him of and responding in a whisper as she hands the lit up stick back to him. "I needed to make everyone believe that it could be done. The reality is that things will be a bit more... rudimentary."

Castle studies the cigarette between his fingers, the slight nervous tremor in his hands more evident as it carries through the white cylinder.

"It's going to be okay," she says, taking a drag and motioning him to do so. He takes a deep breath before slumping next to her and taking the stick to his lips, sucking in frustration.

This is not okay. This wasn't the plan. He feels as if someone pulled the rug out from under him and what's left is an endless void. Another drag as he scours his head in silence, and he can tell that she's riding his mind waves as he does so. But she doesn't say anything. She's allowing him to pick which question he'll tackle first, which fear, which reproach.

Another drag and he gets lost briefly in the way the expelled smoke hangs swirling in the pools of light that come from the overhead lights, mixing with the one that comes from Ally's cigarette like mysterious snakes.

"But… how will you let them know?" Castle dares to ask.

"The device activates via a phone call," she says, leaning back against the drywall behind the bunk bed. "They'll get the signal. Don't Worry." And she says that with such ease that it unnerves him, makes him feel like a dismissal, as if she's treating him like a child. Anger boils within him, nothing was supposed to be left out of the equation. This was plain and simple recklessness.

"Where are you gonna find a phone…?" His anger comes out as a hiss when he voices the question and she doesn't even flinch at his tone. Ally remains undisturbed, taking another drag from her cigarette and letting him simmer as her lips press together in what he could only describe as a smile.

And then it dawns on him.

"His office. When I _interview_ him," he figures out, and then he realizes... "Fuck, you knew I was going to ask you to come with me all of this time?"

She shrugs, amused. Castle could continue to recriminate and seethe about her lack of consideration and her mind games but this would entertain her more than actually make her feel bad about it. She's still a brat, he considers, and it bemuses him that without even uttering a word, she knows exactly and on a deeper level why he's so upset.

"How are we going to make that without them noticing?" He asks, deciding to move on. "We'll have to-"

"I'll have to." She cuts him off as her eyes meet his and he shakes his head in denial foreseeing what comes next. "I'll distract them once the call is made; the troops should be here pretty quick. You have to be out as soon as you can to avoid getting in the crossfire. If our calculations are correct, their strike is just one minute away."

No, he can't let her take all the risk. That's not what they agreed upon.

"We'll both be in the office, I can distract him, I can-" He almost pleads. "We came in here together, we're going at it together."

"I didn't make promises of that." The sober tone behind her voice is almost chilling, and he fears what determination has taken over the girl. He knows what she's doing, she wants to finish what she started years ago.

"The only promise I made was to get you out of here in one piece." Her eyes are full of ice and steel. Her grip on the cigarette is determined. Everything about her is coiled tense and wrapped up in an air of stubbornness.

"But-" He tries again but the whiney creak of the door cuts him off, as Curtis Weaver comes in with his trusty companion.

"Mr. Castle, I'm ready to talk to you," the man announces as he motions, inviting him towards the door. "If you would please follow me into my quarters, I can answer some of your questions, and perhaps share a finger or two of scotch."

Castle's gaze goes from the man to Ally's eyes. His heart pounds, filled with dread.

Curtain call. He feels like an actor that barely knows the lines, headlining a brand new scene, in the Broadway play of his life.

His mother would disapprove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been written across 4 different countries, planes and car trips, through countless months and many other scripts and stories begging to be told... I'm still as excited as the first day. It has been my companion through many a hardship.
> 
> Thank you to all of you that have read through it all, and reviewed. You make my day.
> 
> And to Ky, my sparkly purple unicorn, mwahhh!


	29. Chapter 29

In the forty five minutes that Castle has been sitting across from Curtis Weaver he has figured out at least five different plot outlines for psychological thrillers that he's sure can find a better fate than Nikki Heat. If he could just not let it fall into ludicrous hands this time around, that is.

As much as he can write his fingers off to describe this man before him, he'd probably come up short transmitting the subtleties and unsaid language that exudes off of him. Weaver is a complicated man, with many layers. It is a shame that his future isn't looking so bright, or so Castle hopes.

"So, at the time it was just the two of us; we'd lost our team back at the ferry, which ended up being a blessing, none of them were as skilled as the two of us. It would have been a dead weight." Curtis continues his tale, a quick pace to his narration, too engrossed to notice Ally's grimaces whenever he adds what must be fake glory to his actions. "You'd think that you'd fear every creature in those swamps, but we would gladly take an alligator over _them_. I don't want to die in the hands of a Supersoldier. There's just such a detached quality behind their dead eyes. No matter what they do, no matter how much they revamp them, they will always be dead versions of their original."

They've strolled this country more than a few times; Curtis prompts Ally to tell her portion of the story whenever he can, and she obliges, but Castle can tell how she's trying to avoid the daring moments that once tied her to him on a deeper level, memories that wound her and make her icy cover falter ever so slightly.

She's trying to fake being neutral, but it's not quite happening. Thankfully, Weaver is focused on him and his grandiose tale of philosophical heroism.

"It's been long years trying to bring understanding to the right people, the people that will make a difference… Not only the people that will join our ranks but also the people that have the power to tip the balance of awareness in our favor."

People in the government, people with money, people with influences hiding their agenda in the deepest levels as much as the _other_ parties involved push for their own. At the end of the day, it is not so different than the ridiculous war between Republicans and all things Obama, Castle thinks. He could cry-laugh; here it is, this man talking about higher intellect, and at the end of the day, his basic, lowest instincts are possibly ruining his 'mission'.

Ally has an effect on him, a deep one. It goes beyond simple resentment, or even hatred, there's much more in the longing, in his stray and demure looks towards the girl. Humans are so complicated already, and then here are these folks, trying to bring other species into the mix.

It's hard for him to look at this infatuation from afar; for one part Castle can't shake the fact that this girl is not much older than his own daughter, and he should, because even for him, the notion is getting old. Realities are different for different people. Then, there's the fact that he knows that Curtis Weaver is a scumbag that uses everyone in the age-old script he follows to recruit followers; he's not much different than any cult leader out there, he just picked the ones that happen to share a crazy goal with the government. Still, the ego is the same.

"I have to say, and I hope you don't take offense on this," Castle says, cautiously and meeting eyes with the girl as she fakes interest in checking out some literature on the counter by her side, "but until I met Ally, I wasn't aware that this was going on, maybe you have-"

"You mistake public awareness with the correct awareness," Curtis cuts him off, smug, and Ally shakes her head. Rookie mistake. This guy has had an entire collection of doubts thrown at him. "We see no value in bringing the public into this. Not yet. We've been successful capturing the attention of the _right_ people."

His tone reminds him of Bracken… it provokes the same nausea that he suffers from when he catches him on FOX News.

"But now that the child, William… has, you know," Castle has trouble not second guessing himself; Martha would be proud though, the show must go on, "he's passed away, how do you carry out the mission of your… organization?"

"Our mission is larger than his existence." It is Weaver's smugness that boils his blood the most; the certainty that infuses his voice, the bravado that covers for any surface reaction to something that clearly affected him. _Larger than his existence_ … He's bluffing at best. Castle knows that he's grasping at straws at this point, most likely trying to uphold a structure that could crumble if the "truth" were to be known.

What if William were really dead? Would that be the end of this pursuit, or is he right to assure that this fight doesn't end with him? Ally stops perusing the pamphlets and turns her attention to the men; her face shows no reaction to Curtis' words.

"I thought-" Castle retorts only to be shut down again. If this were a legitimate research interview, it would be one that would prove to frustrate him.

"One thing you learn after all these years of fighting for this cause, is that you have to think outside the box when your enemy is unrelenting." Curtis gets up from his seat and begins serving the promised scotch. His back is to them as he pours, the amber liquid fills a trio of glass tumblers that have seen better days. "You don't expect me to hand you a straight answer of what our next step would be, do you? I've invited you to pick my brain but I still have a say on how deep you can go… but that's not the case with you, my dear Ally, right?"

Ally's eyes roll in annoyance. Castle's at a moment in this hypothetical interview where in any other circumstance, he'd bow out and leave. No such thing will happen though, especially when he knows that the girl is just trying to find the perfect moment to carry out her plan, whatever that plan may be.

He'd kill to have some of her gift right about now.

"I'm not _that_ rude, Curtis." She answers, humoring him. "Is that a bottle from that shipment we stole in Pensacola?"

The man turns around and Castle witnesses a silent exchange that doesn't quite need special powers to figure out. There's a story behind that moment in Pensacola, as the two share an almost love and lust filled look.

"You know I'm a man of habits, Ally." He smiles, and it's wicked and makes his stomach turn.

"Yeah, this place looks exactly like your office in Montana," she comments. _More details to the story,_ Castle thinks. Just how far and wide have they been? "I don't even think you changed the order of your library."

Curtis chucks softly and nods absentmindedly as he goes back to his task. "Mr. Castle, Water? Ice?" He asks.

"Neat is fine," he responds.

"I'd ask you, but I know your poison," Curtis adds in Ally's direction as he adds just the one cube of ice to the glass. For the first time Castle can almost see the resolve in her eyes crumble, but it is a brief time, a second that goes unnoticed by their host, to be replaced by something else that he can't pinpoint.

"An answer right now would be too simple on our end…" Curtis says, handing the drinks to them. "A rushed decision, if you want honesty."

Castle takes a careful sip of the drink, and only because he can see the man before him take a sip as well. Paranoia is not unwarranted.

"There are many levels to our next set of actions, but I'll concede, Mr. Castle," he says, settling on his seat, crossing his right leg over his left knee, his body language a give away, as it leans towards Ally's presence. "With William gone, maybe it's time to tap into that awareness that's been missing from our plans; maybe it is time to bring exposure to our strategy… and this is where you come in."

His eyes bury into Castle's, and for a minute he worries that this man has also developed some kind of mind reading powers that could give away his fears. But no, Curtis Weaver's power, very much like his own, is the power of observation.

"I understand… and that is partly my interest in exploring this… topic," Castle adjusts in his seat and his fingers grip the pen he's been holding for much of the _interview_ … "I do have to say, as much as my interest peaks, as a story to be told, and _believe me_ , I know the power of a well told story, I wonder if you're overestimating my power over the general public…"

Curtis scoffs and leans towards him; all of the attention of the man is on him, like a leopard stalking his prey.

"Perhaps it is you that's underestimating yourself." Curtis places his drink on the desk behind him, his hands coming together as if in a prayer. His shoulders are tense and his arm muscles ripple under his skin; the man is surely holding back his frustration and doing his best to show Castle what ever version of good PR he thinks he's doing for himself and his cause.

"Until now all we've had are dry and unrelated publications of some of our principles and partial truths," Weaver continues, the cadence growing frenetically, and Castle does his best to not let his eyes tell tales as he tries to follow Ally's moves, as she takes advantage of this moment to demurely get closer to Weaver's desk, slowly, making him nervous that Curtis might snap of his brainwashing reverie, figure it out and snap their necks for their indiscretion. "This would be the inside view, the real look into what's an unstoppable movement. The years and knowledge invested in our mission are enough to fill millions of pages, pages that would awaken the masses and get the popular power behind our cause.

Ally's movements are careful while she approaches the library behind the man's desk, her motions slow and gentle; she's doing her best to not reveal that she's a threat.

"Can you imagine how powerful it would be to open the dormant minds of those that deserve to know the truth?" Castle focuses his eyes on Curtis; the man's nose flares with the crescendo in what seems to be true passion behind his argument. To know that the higher beings are about to knock on our doors and that corrupt forces are doing everything in their power to keep us a slave race?" He continues, citing a number of times that the lives of the world have been deemed unworthy to unseen tyrants, that he wants to fight, but the words fade into the background as Castle sees Ally pull a book out of the shelves, swiftly opening the cracked hardcover and revealing it to be a box holding a small flask inside.

"So I'm taking your cue. You want the truth, then you must understand the price that comes with it." Curtis's voice is filled with the finality that snaps him back to reality. Castle's heart pounds, his blood rushing in his veins causing a deaf noise that clouds his senses for the brief time and allows him to see Ally unscrew the cap and approach her target.

* * *

"Thank you, Detective Sole." Victoria Gates closes the dossier in front of her, a thorough collection of the day's activities summarized as she had requested. "This looks pretty solid. I see that you've effectively leaned on the members assigned to you."

The older man in front of her stands with a severity that she's come to recognize in the months that she's worked with the veteran investigator. Normally, Sole passes as one of the most unassuming members of their force; his words are measured, his approach to his assigned cases almost Zen like. But there's a side to him that he's shown in high stakes moments that tells her that it is just a controlled facade for a man that has learned to control his temper over the years.

"Yeah, well, they're there to do their job." He answers drily. "Allow me to ask, Captain Gates… I understand the preparedness, but it seems rather excessive to cover and strategize with so many agencies based on such slim assumptions…"

She can't dismiss his apprehension, it would seem careless. So, she takes a pause and allows him to complete a train of thought that doesn't quite reach the station.

"Are you questioning the FBI?" She intentionally trains her voice to calmly address him but enforcing authority in its quiet pace. "Are you questioning my judgement?"

"I wouldn't dare, Sir." He's quick to answer, but doesn't drop the subject. He's resolute in his intention. "I'm questioning Detective Beckett's neutrality. She's obviously influenced by her attachment not only to one of the victims, but also to her own responsibility in this event. I question that she's running point when we should be more careful- This is not the first time that this has happened. In any other case, any one of us would have been pulled from the case, anyone would have-"

Gates raises her right hand to stop the man from continuing. Ever since she took command of this precinct, she's had to find her place in all the nooks and crannies that Montgomery had so effectively controlled and filled with his presence. She never had the _pleasure_ to witness him in action, but if the aftermath was to tell anything, he was a man that even a year after his death, the shadow of his work and authority still loomed everywhere she turned.

There were days where she was convinced that his ghost roamed the halls setting traps for her to fall on; there were days when she understood that it wasn't only Montgomery that hogged the control of the carnivorous food chain that regulated the politics within this corner of the NYPD… and then there were days that her honed senses told her that there was something else seeping through the crackling surface. Something sinister that she couldn't pinpoint quite yet.

"Detective Sole… I will ask you again. Are you questioning the integrity of a senior officer? Questioning my authority?"

The cheeks of the man before her turn red, and the tension straining in his jaw is a clear tell of his effort to contain whatever emotion brews inside. His arms cross protectively across his chest, and his voice comes full of the freedom and honesty that unbound determination brings.

"Sir, I'm as committed to this team as the first day I joined the force. But you can't overlook that when it comes to this part of the team, special favors are granted."

She leans on her chair as he continues, letting him vent.

"I'm not blind, and I'm not doing this out of a personal bone to pick. I know that Detective Beckett is one of our brightest, if not the best detective to grace these halls… but even knowing that, there are days when one should ask if we as a team shouldn't also care to protect that team member from themselves."

Indeed, _one should ask themselves that question from time to time_. This is not the time, though, she thinks. Gates turns her attention briefly to the activity outside her office, the overview that the open blinds allow her to enjoy every day. She's the captain of a ship full of personalities that are one of a kind. She wouldn't trade it, she understands the need for them, and over all, she also has the organic awareness that if you're a person that chooses to become a homicide detective, you're also a person that has a vision of life that is not the most mainstream of all. Demons walk the halls of the same psyches that work so vehemently to bring other demons down.

She takes a sobering breath and meets his eyes again.

"Detective Sole, I'm perfectly aware of the vulnerabilities and strengths of this team. I thank you for your concern, and as a sign of respect for your years in this force and for the white on your temples, I will save this conversation and argument for a better time…" Her eyebrow rises as a challenge when Sole's chest heaves as the words that he can't utter remain trapped inside. "Don't underestimate me; I have followed the advice of plenty of people, including members of my own family, with more years of experience than me on the force… But there comes a time where you have to make a choice, and mine is pretty clear."

The man nods, biting the inside of his cheek and stretching the thin line that his lips have become.

"Understood, Sir." It's a dry contempt that fills his respectful response. He throws her a nod as he throws the last silent battle with her, and she rounds her desk, signaling his dismissal from the room and opening the door for him.

Today is not the day to wage new wars in old battlegrounds. Not when they can become uncontrollable scenarios, not when priorities lie elsewhere.

"What do we have, Ryan?" Gates asks, approaching the Irish detective in the media room.

"We're pretty much ready, sir," the man confirms, a little too eager, like he does when he's trying to compensate for things out of his control, like an overachieving child. "We're linked to all the response teams, just waiting for the final go…"

"Is this a live feed of the surroundings?" She asks as she examines the partitioned LCD screen in front of her, showing corners and industrial street landscapes covered in various degrees of snow.

"Yes, sir. We've managed to access a decent amount of live feeds. Welcome to the future and… well, the wonderful resources Federal agencies can bring," Ryan comments, almost with an amused bitterness to the everlasting joke that is the NYPD's budget.

"They've been quite cooperative, alright…" Gates counters, her attention still focused on the images before her.

"Yes, Sir," Kevin humors her. "It won't be long until New York City is just like London, that would be my hope, every corner graced with a camera at our disposal. It would make our job so much easier… Though, I'm sure I could live without the uptight weather."

She nods. More verbal diarrhea.

"But we're good, Sir," he adds, surely growing uncomfortable with the fact that she's still standing in the room without her usual urgency, with a reflective way to her, a product of the previous exchange with the older member of this team. "Good ol' police work has us ready to go-"

Her expression must be one that's threatening because it stops the man's condescending speech in his tracks. He knows what he's doing. He's stalling, he's covering, he's playing a damn game, and it fills her with impotence and fury that she doesn't want to feel.

"Tell me something, Ryan. Why is it that all of a sudden you're the only one of my leading team that I can see gracing the halls of the fourth floor?" Gates tries to play his game as well, but she knows that the detective is only trying to delay the obvious result. They're both aware of it.

"Well, Captain Gates… Beckett and Espo, they're following a lead and Smith and-" He continues, building up excuses, taking one for the team, as always, but she can't allow him to do this again.

"Ryan, please!" She hushes, shaking her head impatiently at his efforts and continuing in a severe tone that even scares her; it's just above a whisper, but free of any nonsense diplomacy. "I know that I haven't been included in whatever loop you guys have going on. I know that the story that Miller and Smith brought with them is not the absolute, or even _a close truth_ to what happened last night."

Kevin' shoulders slump just the slightest as he braces to the side of the desk in the middle of the room. He doesn't quite meet her eyes; dealing with Kevin Ryan is hard for her sometimes. He's as gentle a spirit as they come, and she knows that he's the one member of this team that has allowed her in, just an inch… but she's managed.

"You and I have been down a similar road before, haven't we? But I want you to answer me something, as truthfully as you can…" She continues, making it a point to drill the importance of this moment into him. "Am I out of my mind, turning a blind eye to all of this? Am I going to have you step into my office in a few hours asking me for some leniency for this team's rogue indiscretions?"

Ryan takes a deep breath as she waits for him, her hands braced at her hips, lips pursed in concentration as she tries to evaluate what would be better. Last summer was not a warm memory in her mind. He clears his throat and straightens his stance.

"Sir, I don't think I will be going into your office. Not this time."

Gates nods slowly. _So this is how it's going to go._ As her hands go gently up in the air, she wonders if it's her involuntary sign that part of her has given up; it's a constant battle of wills inside of her, one that wants to break down this invisible resistance and the other that wonders if it's really necessary to try to fix something that this reduced group doesn't actually think is broken.

"I understand," she says, taking a step toward the door but still able to see the reflection of the man behind her on the glass separating them from the oblivious bustle outside. "I do."

His eyes are cast downwards, as if in shameful response to whatever is eating him inside. She turns to him again, letting out a frustrated sigh. "At some point, Ryan, I'd like to be part of this team as well."

The shrill of Ryan's phone ring fills the room, awkwardly bringing the conversation to a halt. There's no point in continuing, she thinks, as the detective reaches halfheartedly for the device.

* * *

"Yo, can you talk?" Esposito's barks a little too forceful as he climbs up the weathered steps.

"I can now," Ryan responds on the other end, his voice cautious. There's something afoot. "Look, man. Gates is on our tail here…"

_Shit._

"What? What does she know?" Javier asks as he turns the next landing, checking the periphery for any sign of uninvited players.

"She isn't stupid, Espo," Ryan dismisses, weary, he isn't sharing. "Are we set to go?"

Esposito walks down the dark hall, dry, cold air filling his lungs as he checks that his party is following close. The last door to his left should be it. "No, not yet, but we had to readjust a couple of strategic things…"

The brief silence on the line tells him that his partner is already fearing the worst. "What happened?"

He stops at the door and sighs. He's also unhappy with this. "Weather happened. It's a blizzard down here, we were too exposed where we were positioned first and… well it is pretty sparse here in terms of structures that are not occupied or too dangerous, so…"

"So?"

"We're gonna be cozying it up with the rest of Mulder's team." He knocks on the door, and waits. His eyes meet Beckett's, but they're not filled with the uncertainty that he knows his reflect.

The door opens to a man with eyes filled with steel.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on "The Essence of Existence"...
> 
> He stops at the door and sighs. He's also unhappy with this. "Weather happened. It's a blizzard down here, we were too exposed where we were positioned first and… well it is pretty sparse here in terms of structures that are not occupied or too dangerous, so…"
> 
> "So?"
> 
> "We're gonna be cozying it up with the rest of Mulder's team." He knocks on the door, and waits. His eyes meet Beckett's, but they're not filled with the uncertainty that he knows his reflect.
> 
> The door opens to a man with eyes filled with steel.

The knock on the door startles Scully, and it shouldn't have. They knew they were coming. Still, John covers the entrance as they reach for their guns, a million scenarios playing out in her head, and she curses how exposed they are. Even between these walls, even with their so called safeties, every minute that passes is testing their nerves, and she's trying her best, she really is. For the sake of her son. _Their son._

When the door opens, a latino man points a gun straight at them, his other hand holding a cellphone to his ear. John doesn't falter, his own gun only a feet away from the visitor. Neither of the men lower their guard; Monica trains her gun on the man as well, takes a step forward.

"Drop it." It's a command, not a suggestion. Her grip tightens on the gun and Scully sees how she tenses her support leg as she closes in.

From Scully's standpoint, she can see how the man's eyes meet John and Monica's, as if trying to make a decision, and she fears the possibilities until she hears a shout coming from behind him.

"Scully - It's us. _You_ lower your weapons; you got the call, right? You knew we were coming," Beckett shouts, siding up to the man with an equally firm death grip on her pistol.

"You know we gotta be careful," John says, releasing a breath and lowering his weapon. An challenging nod follows. "You Esposito?"

The man confirms softly, still holding his gaze, but Beckett pats his shoulder and steps in, putting her body between the men. Scully can tell that these two have work together for a long time, there's a protective trust that lingers in just those brief seconds.

"Can we come in now?" she asks, and Doggett steps aside, signalling them in. She can tell that John's patience is running thin.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Esposito responds back into his cellphone, walking deeper into the space and going straight to the window, still holding a hushed conversation with whoever is on the other end.

Scully approaches Beckett as she enters and gets rid of her snow covered jacket. The snowfall has picked up outside, covering everything with a heavy, ominous blanket; it's an unexpected addition to their calculations, apparently fooling every weather service in town. Inside the building, the temperature has dropped noticeably, which can only add to the alarm factor; the snow will be soon turning to ice and that will make things interesting. Scully hadn't noticed and she silently curses herself. At this point, she's functioning on pure adrenaline.

"I don't think _this_ is a wise idea," she says as she locks eyes with the taller detective. "The point was to try to stay as dispersed as we could."

Beckett takes a deep breath, squeezing the bridge of her nose briefly in frustration. Scully knows it hadn't been the woman's call, she's sure of it. Mulder was most likely the one to call the shot. As always, going rogue on his promise to try and stick to a plan.

"Well, tell that to mother nature," Beckett counters back with a tinge of bitterness to her tone, a loose hand pointing towards the blinding light bouncing off the snow that's been filtering through the window. "Unless you have a couple of trailers and an invisibility cloak, I believe this is the best we can do for now without blowing our cover."

Scully bites her tongue at the woman's wry remark; indeed, magic and mother nature is probably exactly what they need to be thinking about right now. The way this thing is going, she's starting to believe that they should be praying for a miracle; praying so that nothing else goes against their seemingly poorly thought out strategy.

"Any word from her? From them?" Beckett asks as she walks to the small set up that Doggett has prepared with the tracker.

"None," Scully informs as she follows the woman. Beckett's demeanor has surely grown more confident in the few hours that she's been apart from them. She can't pinpoint if she's just angry, or frustrated or just… scared. Fear does things to people… she would know. Beckett picks up the device, turning it in her hands, examining it.

"I checked, the batteries are fine," Scully says, taking it from her, and she can tell that the both of them are trying their hardest not to continue snapping at each other.

The detective cracks her neck as her hands find support, bracing them on her hips. There's another sigh.

Monica checks the hallway outside one last time, giving her a brief nod when she comes back; they haven't been followed.

"How about that group of…" Scully asks Beckett, her hands trying to find a word or a gesture that describes the group of operatives that have managed to brave out the weather in a condemned deposit nearby; management of the stray pieces that are now part of their plan might give her some sort of calmness, the kind that can only come with a sense of control.

Only that... that's just an illusion. Scully knows it, even as she fights to gain some sense of command.

"Mulder and Skinner are with them. They are better off on the ground, to coordinate with… the _others_." Beckett clarifies, and although Scully knows the detective is aware of their motivation, she also knows that Beckett's fishing for additional information that she may not yet have. So she sighs, and nods, and turns to see William stare at them, interested, almost smiling.

"Is he okay?" Beckett asks.

"He is. He's… strong."

As Kate nods at her words, the woman's face softens with the reassurance. Scully has to remind herself that Beckett's also looking out for her son. Scully's not the only one that cares for him; she may be his mother, but the child has captured the detective as well. And she has to see it for how special that is, William rarely trusts anyone.

"Beckett, Ryan is up to speed," the latino's voice booms into the room, breaking the women away from their moment. "Are we-?"

"Not yet." Beckett shakes her head and motions to introduce him to them. "Espo, this is Reyes, Doggett… and Scully." As she turns around, the man salutes them with a nod.

"You're William's mother," he acknowledges when his eyes land on her, and the notion makes her nervous - these people know aspects of her life without any sort of reciprocal knowledge of _their_ nature.

"I brought him up to speed on some things," Beckett clarifies, sensing perhaps the nervousness exuding from her, and locking eyes with her. "We can trust him."

If Scully's nerves and fear weren't on edge, perhaps she would lower her guard, but this is not the case. Every instinct in her flares with dread. "Even if we didn't, it's rather late for that."

Kate rolls her eyes at her snipy comment and purses her lips in what Scully can only read as a strained attempt at self-control.

"I'm not happy about this change of plans, with a few of them actually," Scully says, putting some distance between them, and instantly Esposito takes a stand next to the tall woman. Monica moves toward William, her turn to distract him as John watches close by.

When Mulder had made the call, and even while she also knows that they're still holding some safe separation of the _assets_ , she hates that the decision was made _without her._ She hates that choices are being made without her side of the story, without her in the room to reel Mulder in.

It isn't exactly jealousy, but she hates that he took Beckett's criteria over hers.

"You lack the ability to see the whole picture…" Scully says, barely above a whisper. "You're not prepared for this."

"Excuse me? But in case you don't realize it, your husband and child are far from harm!"

The detective's voice explodes without any sort of restraints; the anger that must have been brewing deep through this whole ordeal, finally finding an escape valve. "We've been playing by Mulder's tune, by your tune, by the cult's, and by that god-damned _syndicate_ 's tune, and in the mean time, my-"

Kate stops short, swallowing venom, and then Scully sees how far she's wounded this woman with her distrust. She can see it in her reddened eyes, in the way her lower lip trembles trying to control herself, the white knuckles she's not ramming against her face. She's being unfair… and taking it out in the one person that reminds her of herself the most. The one that could actually understand her. In reality, she hates her a little for letting herself be dragged down by them.

"Meanwhile, Castle is out there, risking his life-" The detective lists, winded, the rage making her cheeks redden even more. "You cannot possibly think that- Just the fact that-"

"Stop. I get it," Scully says, her right hand motioning a surrendering gesture and trying to find a wordless way to utter an apology for her trigger response to the woman's involvement in her life. She knows this is a territorial thing, but she also knows that there's an underlying feeling that she won't allow herself to voice. "I'm totally aware of the whole situation. I'm not particularly elated with the fact that we have to negotiate any conditions other than our own arrangement."

Scully meets eyes with John, he's sympathetic, he's understanding; he knows that she's better than this ridiculous stance and knows better than to be provoking this outburst.

A moment of silence goes between them, and she commends the detectives for knowing when to not keep pushing her buttons.

"I just, I hoped that…" Scully says after she swallows a shaky breath… trying to find the words that come next.

"...that Mulder came back with us?" Beckett fishes, finding her eyes ever so briefly, and she has to fight the sting of tears that is threatening to spill. There's a pang deep inside her that tells her something is wrong.

But perhaps it's just her paranoia speaking.

"It's better this way," John utters, locking eyes with her.

_Is it?_

* * *

The structure is made out of metal sheeting. The wind whistles through the cracks, rattling the loose sections that have lost their bolts over time. The rust paints the brushed metal here and there as a man leans against one of the bigger cracks trying to get a better view of the compound not three hundred feet away.

"This weather is going to make things very difficult," Walter comments, as he sees Esposito's operatives take places next to each other in pairs, trying to keep the cold at bay. They are quite the sight. By all means, some of them look like they belong in jail, at least two are part of a biker club, and one has a nasty scar that surely comes from an ugly bar fight.

"What, Walter? Arthritis getting to you?" Mulder jokes, throwing him a side glance and a snort.

"You should be the one to talk…" They're not young anymore, not by a long chance. "I'm just worried that we'll lose the upper hand."

Fifteen years ago, Walter Skinner wasn't picturing himself holed up in the middle of an industrial area in the ugly part of New York. But then again, he also didn't imagine himself as Maggie Scully's husband. No. That still sounds ludicrous, even today.

"Any minute now," Mulder announces as he checks his watch. They hadn't had a certainty of _when_ Ally would be signalling them in, but Mulder is sure that not only are they close to deploy time, but also that Ally won't let them down.

"We've got company," White announces; he's a tall, tattooed, bald man with arms that look like wooden paddles. The other men cock their guns and rifles, ready for anything.

All the canons point to the single sheet that acts as a door in this metal box; the hinges creak loudly, revealing a person they didn't expect.

"What are you doing here!?" Mulder hisses at the sight of one Diana Fowley.

"Just doing a field visit," she smirks smugly and then turns, eyeing him almost sickly sweet. "Skinner…"

"Fowley," he acknowledges, cocking his head to the side. His stomach churns, because he's quite clear of what her kind can do.

"Our assets are in place. I see you have a skilled group," she says as she walks the small space, evaluating their group with just a hint of a lewd smile. "Hmm, I think I'd rather be on this flank."

Skinner eyes Mulder, this is suspicious at best.

"Diana… I'm sure we're the cool kids," Mulder begins, slowly approaching her as she parades around. "But excuse me if I question your motives."

She stops in her tracks and slowly turns to him. "I'm not stupid, Fox." A smile spreads on her face, and Skinner thinks is one of the most sickening sights he's seen in a while. "I may have been blind once, but I think that this time around, I'll keep a closer watch. I'm staying put, if you don't mind."

She grabs onto a discarded wooden crate, startling the men standing next to it. Diana drags it to the center of the room, sits with crossed legs, and waits.

 _What does this mean?_ He tries to signal his confusion to Mulder, and Mulder signals to drop the subject. As if it were possible. A super soldier just walked into the closest checkpoint before the compound. Uninvited.

"Any minute now," Mulder repeats, carding his fingers through his hair in frustration.

* * *

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it." Esposito fits a different kevlar vest on himself. This one covers a wider expanse, with most critical joints and arteries protected by add-ons.

"Yeah, this is just a better fit. Don't sweat it." John dismisses it, as he continues to adjust his own. _Any minute now._

"You guys know your stuff," Javier comments as he sits by the small monitor John had managed to hook up earlier. Two cameras cover the outside and a portion of the hallway, grainy pictures, the signal not strong enough to be more than just a step up from white noise.

Doggett shrugs. Most of this stuff he learned from Ally, improvising this setup on the fly. _Where is her signal?_ He looks outside the window, the snow still falling copiously over every surface.

"We've got company," Javier hushes and Doggett turns to the monitor; a tall figure in a long dark jacket walks up the steps of the first floor and alarm floods his features. He clicks to switch the feed to the only other camera in the hall, barely catching the figure as it passes by - unrecognizable in the darkness. This can't be good.

The women are already on alert, forming a three sided flank, guns drawn, protecting the child.

"Stay behind us, honey," Scully instructs William from the right side of the triangle, pushing him away from the entrance. Monica and Kate take the center and left, respectively.

John can hear his heart pounding, for the briefest time the room spins, and he's sure it's the spike of adrenaline in his body,coursing through in a fear he won't ever admit.

He signals Javier to approach the door silently, as they move sideways, avoiding any creaks. A firm but almost polite knock on the door confuses them; they were expecting a much more violent entrance. They share worried looks as the unexpected visitor knocks again.

Doggett checks with Esposito, motioning for him to cover his blind spot; he's the closer one to the door. His right hand grips firmly at the knob while his left holds his weapon. He turns it and throws the door open, hoping for an edge and a quicker reaction time.

The gasp behind him accompanies his own confusion.

"No need for the careful and paranoid reception, everyone." Long strides walk her in; she doesn't even flinch at their weapons.

"I'm as harmless as can be," Diana Fowley says as she briefly cracks him a smile before turning to meet eyes with Scully and Beckett.

The women don't flinch but he knows uncertainty is swallowing them whole.

From the back, William sneaks a peek, takes a deep breath, not even skipping a beat. For John, he may be the most centered person in the room.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few parts to go on this ride. Thanks so much for tagging along.
> 
> A fair warning that the following chapter includes a few elements of violence/graphic nature that might be uncomfortable to some.

Castle feels as if the moments unveiling before him are playing in slow motion; one of those jump-cut montages from action movies that dull your senses and play out to music so dramatic and contundent that it leaves your throat dry. His throat is dry, his hands feel clammy, he can't believe they just poisoned this man. He chugs the last of his drink only to have it burn all the way to his stomach.

Curtis Weaver slides from the chair in front of him slowly; his knees hit the floor first, followed by the dull sound of his body laying in lethargy. Whatever Ally put in his drink while he was so concentrated on inflating his delirious story of conquests and adventures had taken very short time to act. First went his hands - he had no control over them, then his speech, as the alarm creeped into him, finding himself unable to alert the guards that stood outside. Neither Ally or him rush to his aid; his eyes are still very alert, darting between them and filled with a mixture of rage and fear. He feels bad for the slightest second before he remembers that this man really has no scruples.

Ally finally makes her way to the man, crouching and leaning in as if she were examining an unknown species.

"Feels pretty weird, huh?" she asks Curtis, but she doesn't expect an answer. She's perfectly aware that he's unable to control even the steady drip of his saliva that slides from his lips and onto the floor.

"Don't worry though. I am not _that_ cruel, unlike you." Ally's tone as she toys with the little clear vial in her hand and continues taunting the man is vicious. The tight smile on her face distorts her features, her breathing… he could swear she just ran a marathon. Castle barely recognizes the girl before him, and then he realizes that this is part of it all. Curtis must have put her through this. "Just a little dash, because I know this shit can be quite bitter… didn't want to fuck up my chances and have you notice before it made you a useless lump of garbage."

She reaches forward and places the vial back on the surface of the desk, freeing her hand and coming even closer to the man. She grabs his face, forceful and in haste, as the terror in Curtis' simmers and his veins pulse noticeably, becoming real in breaths that come rushed, in sweat that now has matted his hair.

"I could do all the things you did to me back then, you know?" she says, dropping his face back to the floor. "Well, some of them. You obviously don't have the anatomy to mimic it _exactly_."

Castle shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. There are a million images that now flood his brain and none of them are benevolent. Every one of them makes his stomach turn, and Ally turns to him, meeting his eyes. His thoughts must come loud and clear to her; the fear, the disgust, the shock and true indignation he's feeling. She doesn't correct him or appease him and that makes it even worse.

Ally gets up and downs the last of her drink.

"I'd make it hurt, though, _real bad_. Just like you did." She continues to speak to the man as she grabs onto his arms and pulls until she's dragging him behind the desk. Castle rushes to her aid, and he'd check on what the plan is but the girl seems as if in a trance. "Make you feel like death is preferable to this bullshit."

She drops him without any consideration and then opens the central drawer of the desk, pulling a 9mm and a couple of clips.

"What are we doing?" Castle asks after he's done trying to position Curtis' humanity in a way that doesn't block their path.

"We're getting some ammo. Once I make that call we're going to rush our way out." Ally grabs the pillow from Curtis' chair and the water bottle by the mini bar, emptying it on the man on the floor.

"What- What was that you gave him?"

"Shhh." She grabs some tape and a swiss knife from the drawer. "It's a paralyzing agent. He can feel everything, he just can't do anything about it."

She quickly slices the pillow and digs the filling out, squeezing as fast as she can into the water bottle. Ally attaches the bottle to the barrel, quickly securing it as firm as she can to the gun.

"If that's what I think it is, I hate to tell you that I played with something similar and it will still be loud." He had, after that case almost five years ago. Esposito had made fun of him, and Ryan argued that they surely could achieve it if they experimented more. Beckett on the other hand, she'd probably best without remembering the whole incident. So many explanations needed afterwards.

"Not as loud as a simple shot," Ally argues, hushed and impatient. "I only need one shot anyways. Go open the door and ask his goon in."

Castle nods, taking a deep breath as he approaches the door, checking with her before turning the knob. This could go very bad.

Ally sits back in Curtis' chair and aims the gun directly in his direction. She better have the greatest aim in the world, he thinks. He opens the door, and peeks out. Surely the man is right there, alone but alert, thankfully at enough distance that he's sure he didn't hear any of the fuss going on inside.

"Hey, man. Come on in, we're done," Castle says in his most nonchalant way, but he's not stupid. He can probably smell the con a mile away… still, there's doubt, doubt that lasts long enough to allow them to have an opportunity at least.

The man walks in and Castle rushes to close the door behind him, just in time to hear the distorted dulled ring of the shot that pierces right through the man's heart. He flops lifelessly onto the floor, blood oozing from the wound and onto the carpet, his eyes unfocused and his face slack.

"Jesus!" Castle mutters, hushed, startled, surprised by the speed of it all.

"No need to be summoning aliens." She pulls the plastic bottle from the gun and cleans the barrel as much as she can from the melted plastic. "Grab his gun, check for a backup piece. Hurry, I only gave him just enough for us to get out of here. It won't be long 'til someone figures it out."

Ally grabs Curtis' walkie from the coffee table and hooks it to the waist of her pants as she circles the desk and pours the rest of the alcohol on him, delivering a kick to his ribs for good measure. This violence… it's not her. It's Curtis' venom coursing through her.

"Why not just kill him?" Castle asks as he checks the Beretta and the smaller ankle piece the man held, counting the bullets on each.

"You guys need a patsy, right?" She's covering their bases and that's fine but Castle is sure that the way this is going they could have also done well without him anyways. "Plus, this is far from over."

Ally grabs the cordless phone, meeting eyes with Curtis who now lies on his back, his eyes the only way that his fury can be perceived. She plants the heel of her boot to his groin and pushes violently as the man's eyes immediately roll, tortured in pain.

"Keep that up… I know a guy that knows a guy... he died of bruised balls, or was it a wounded ego?" He doesn't quite mean the joke as a way to stop her. It wouldn't have worked anyways, as she now stomps harder and kicks the man's ribs relentlessly.

* * *

They certainly weren't prepared for this turn of events; Diana Fowley's presence in the room is not one that they can possibly dismiss, or take as just the aftermath of getting involved with all the parties that are pieces of this operation.

She only knows that it wasn't supposed to be like this. This was not the plan.

Beckett is the first one to lower her weapon, the only one; she knows that a bullet from her gun will make little damage on her… if any. But the rest don't even flinch. Maybe she's more tolerant of her presence having just seen her, having just met her; maybe she's being naive, maybe she's just resigning herself to the fact that they'll have to deal with her in less forceful ways.

She won't be the one to mediate though. She's sure that if Mulder were here he'd probably play that card. For this battle, she'll let them have the first blow… especially with Scully in the room.

The rest of them continue to point their barrels at the woman, no one moves, no one breathes. They're waiting for a strike team that most likely won't come. Or was this the objective all along? To separate them and take the advantage to get to William? This vulnerability suddenly sits on her stomach like a lead brick for a moment, the fear suffusing her, intoxicating her muscles; her pulse pounds, the gun in her hand is no longer steady. Kate fears the metallic cold flare of PTSD that starts to mute her, until she chances a look at the boy.

He's calm. Too calm. What does he know?

William meets eyes with her, and nods. It's such a gentle move that it could have gone unnoticed if it weren't for the fact that she desperately hangs on his reaction, looking for hope that she can't find in herself.

Diana walks closer to him, only to have Monica take a step forward and train her gun to the woman's right temple.

"What do you think you're doing?" Reyes' nostrils flare. Her fury is contained but present. Her features transformed in the wake of the adrenaline that must be coursing through her. The expressions that she'd only seen soft and kind, now expose a severity accentuated by the thin line of her lips and the vein pulsing fierce on her forehead.

John and Javier follow Monica's lead, circling the woman, on edge. She knows that Esposito is just following their lead, and a million questions will follow… when this is done. Whenever that is.

"I said, what do you think you're doing?" Monica repeats. The woman turns towards her, the barrel of the gun grazing a line on her pale skin. She's not afraid and that makes Reyes even more nervous.

"Monica, isn't it?" Diana taunts. "You're every bit as I had imagined you to be. Everyone was right, you really are hiding a lot of contempt in you."

The comment throws Reyes off, just an inch, but it does. The grip on the gun shifts; she tightens it immediately. It's a tactic.

"I'm just curious about the boy. It's not every day that you get to be in the presence of such a marvel" The woman's eyes drift to William. He doesn't react, but Scully poises her body to block her gaze from the boy as any protective mother would. Kate can sense that the redhead is holding onto dear life to whatever restraint is left in her to not squeeze the trigger of her gun.

"This wasn't the deal, Fowley," Kate interjects before the situation spins out of control.

"We were never clear about my movements… we just said we'd be alert, right? I'm just following through." The woman is smug, and vile and she wishes she could throw caution to the wind and just let the butt of her gun do the talking.

"Bullshit…" the man's voice speaks a lot of what's going through her own mind.

"John Doggett, there's a kid in the room," Diana says in fake disgust. She's enjoying this ridiculous play of wills, as if waiting to see who's going to pull the trigger first. "No need… for such language."

"Cut the crap. What are you doing here?" Monica asks, separating the barrel of her gun, just an inch, away from her.

"Making sure that everyone is doing their job."

"We don't need babysitting," Monica replies immediately and it makes Kate wonder just how despicable this woman is.

"We'll have to agree to disagree," Diana replies calmly and she's sure that this is the most unnerving part of it all; the coldness of her approach, the calculated way she's playing them all. "Scully knows, I can be helpful, sometimes. This group is a mixed one; NYPD, former FBI… I don't see the problem in having me as a tag along."

"It is so curious that you don't consider yourself FBI anymore," Scully finally says, her gun still trained on the woman as William hides behind her.

"I've accepted my change of lifestyles, Dana." For her the tone is different, almost empathetic, almost friendly, there's a different depth to it, but she's also looking down on the redhead. Scully makes up for it in determination; she doesn't flinch, she doesn't waver, her grip is firm and her stance fierce. "I see that you've tried too, though you must admit that your life is really stressful. Makes you wonder about all those choices you made along the way, doesn't it?"

Diana allows her the space for a response, she clearly wants a reaction, a sign that she struck a nerve, but no. Scully won't allow her as much.

"But I digress…" Diana recaps, turning to Kate and Esposito now. "I see that your end of the deal has changed as well."

"Weather-" Kate begins.

"I'm not blaming you for mother nature…" She dismisses, interrupting her as she walks away from Monica's gun much to her baffled disbelief. The woman seriously has no fear. She walks over to the windows past her, as everyone still stands guard at her movements. "In any case, all assets are in place, where I am at any point of the strike makes little difference."

"I beg to differ-" Scully interjects.

"Well, we'll just have to get used to that then," Fowley cuts her off as she examines the signal tracker that will deliver Ally's warning. "If you don't mind, I'll just take a seat, and wait for your girl to give us the signal."

John holsters his gun as he walks over to her and takes the device from her hands, pulling the stool by the table and setting it a distance away from their equipment, intentionally, and serving her with a forced smile.

"Thank you, I sensed you have the manners of a southern gentleman," she says as she takes a seat, poised and feminine, her eyes settling shamelessly on the boy.

* * *

As the group gathers in the corner farthest from the woman, he cannot help but feel overwhelmed at the free stream of thoughts that circulate like a storm cloud around him. They forget, well, most of them forget that he's totally aware of sensing their fears, their anxiety, their impotence.

William stands shielded among them, the fatigue starting to settle in him as the events of the last day weigh on him, the nap he took earlier not really being enough to soothe his mental exhaustion. He won't utter a word though, he needs to brave it, and Scully, his mother, already carries enough guilt on her shoulders.

John and Monica keep checking on Diana over their shoulders, alert. Beckett stands next to his mom as she holsters her gun and cards her nervous hands through his hair. Scully's touch is soothing, but also makes her feelings course through him with a heightened strength.

He braves it, because he knows what pulling away does to her. He did it once, and that's the day he learned what a broken heart feels like.

"We have to call Mulder," Scully whispers to the group, the hesitation evident on their faces, and the list of doubts starting to mount between them.

"We can't," Beckett finally says."If we tell him that she's here, he's going to want to rush here and we can't jeopardize the operation."

She's right, he would, especially if he knew that the woman in the room doesn't hold the objectives that they think she does. He could warn them, he could unmask this game that she's playing but he also wants to find out what else is behind it.

He's learned to do this through the time they've been on the road. The deceitful first impressions of people's thoughts have more layers than what he at first imagined. So William has learned to wait them out, to see all the colors that their emotions and baggage bring to their actions. He's often asked himself if he'd ever become one of them; an adult that would have to weigh so many variables that could alter what he knows is the right thing to do.

They see him as a marvel, and it bothers him sometimes that for some he's something to be desired as a collectible, while for others their desire stems from a darkness that chills his bones and makes him sick.

"You're going to have to let this one go for now," John advises. "We're all going into the field, but we won't leave you alone here with her. William has to be safe."

The mention of his name draws his attention to the older man, and he sees worry in his blue, weathered eyes. There's just so much pain behind them.

"You okay there, Will?" Scully says, touching his shoulder and once again igniting his senses to that deep level of empathy.

"Yes, mom. Don't worry." William assures, trying to seem cool and collected. They don't need to worry about him now.

The male NYPD detective leaves the group to stand by Diana. She smiles at the man, and then at him. Her thoughts flow, slowly, calculated, she's amused by their paranoia. She knows he can read her thoughts and isn't in the least worried about it.

"We may be downplaying something dangerous, and with William here…" Scully argues, keeping her voice in check and concentrating back on John.

"I know he's the most important part of this ordeal," Beckett intervenes, her mind drifting to the presence of the two components of the team that are still in danger and that are risking it all for the sake of saving him. He'll eventually learn how not to feel guilty about all of this. Not that they know, not that he'll ever say. Maybe in the future, when it doesn't hurt that all of his life there have been so many misunderstood responsibilities and blame thrown around him. Maybe in the future when he learns how to cope with the irrational and silent screams that they guard in their minds, trying to seem mature, when at the end of the day everyone fears a variation of the same thing.

He had really wanted to run away when he heard the last thoughts that came from the woman that had treated him as a son until Scully appeared in his life. Jane Van de Kamp had simply asked for the comforting embrace of her own mother.

"If we change the plan more than we already have, I don't know that I'll-" Beckett's explanation fades a bit as he eases out of Scully's grip, directing his attention to the woman behind them.

These beings are such a weird thing to explore.

A normal human being is somewhat linear, even when their thoughts stray and combine to adjust for all the variables. Reading a supersoldier's mental wave reminds him of channel surfing on a Saturday morning, trying to find the best cartoons while weeding through too many sport channels and religious networks. Concepts that contradict each other, atemporal recollections, shared mind frames, and then… that overseeing eye that they all seem to refer to. Like a daunting shadow that encompases them all.

Their memories feel cold for the most part, detached and utilitarian. But this woman is different.

There's a passion about her that she smugly cycles through in her stream of thought. She reminds him of his old school Principal. Mrs. Steiner was mean, bitter, and she rejoiced in it. She liked seeing the kids squirm in her presence, and had gotten especially frustrated by the fact that he never feared her. It was a badge of honor.

But Diana Fowley… she isn't as simple. Her motivations shouldn't be based in human emotions, yet they are. They fail to have the collective draw that most supersoldiers cling to. Her motivations are vile, she's full of revengeful feelings and desires.

Different from some others he'd encountered in the past, her frequency seems slimmer in some part… as if, this is a diluted version of her. As if parts of her are missing… whole sections of her spectral self are blank spaces to his mind's eye.

She's… incomplete. _Could it be?_ He thinks.

And then he hears her, loud and clear. She's aware of his presence in her head. She gloats and flaunts, doing her best to terrify him. Her insides are much more taunting than what her outside behavior has shown. She has an objective. A clear objective. But he can see past it, and wonders why if she knows what the final outcome might be, why does she still pursue it?

Could it be that simple? Is this really that simple of a set up, and if it is, will he be playing their game by warning everyone? Is he being played?

The image is clear in his head. He has to keep her away.

William looks back at the group and sees Monica deep in thought as his mother, John and Kate argue amongst themselves.

"Monica?" he asks softly, so as not to startle her.

"Yes, Will?" She says, coming closer to him and lowering to his height.

William motions to come closer and he places his hands next to her right ear, guarding his voice from travelling as he confers this secret to the one person that he'll share it with.

"When you and Kate get to the blue door, don't go through it." He whispers softly but urgent. "This is not her. She doesn't have the same plan."

Monica's confusion is loud and he flinches at the flood.

"What do you mean?" she whispers back, chancing a look at Diana.

"You'll see. There's different goals in their war… and we're stuck with the devil one." William continues against her ear, trying his best to explain without giving too many details that may seem too abstract to explain at the time. "Don't tell my mom. She can't be part of it, or the other half of their plans will come true."

He cannot tell them. They don't have his ability, and the only person that would understand is not here to translate for him.

"William…?" Monica begins, trying to find the question that will get her to understand this. But he shakes his head. If there was a moment where he thanks the ability that this woman has to trust her gut, this would be the one.

"It is you and Kate. When you face the blue door - You have to be the ones to lead them away." He pulls back from her and meets her eyes. "The rest will settle itself."

"Can she read our thoughts?" Monica whispers.

"No, but I can read hers… and she has plenty to say."

Reyes' eyes dart from Diana to him, still doubting, the fear getting the best of her. She looks back at Scully, who is decidedly just barely hanging on to her own resolve.

"Buddy, I don't think it's wise to not let your mom know that there's something off-" She begins but he won't have it. The stakes are too high.

"I told you because I know you won't. I told you because I know you're going to do whatever it takes." William says to her, fixing his eyes on hers, willing his own resolve to infuse her own. "There's no other way."

The woman purses her lips as she takes a deep breath and looks back at Kate. There are so many questions, but just like that comes a blind desire to just jump into the oblivion sooner than later. Get this done. Get on with the battle and push through.

She nods and straightens before him, one of her hands squeezes his shoulder and he knows just how much she's risking by pleasing him. He can finally breathe a little easier.

The group allows themselves a moment of silence, each deep in their thoughts, in the mental rundown of what's to happen, in their hidden fears and collective agendas... a moment of mental cleansing only broken by the sudden and jarring beeping of an alarm.

It's time.


	32. Chapter 32

There's something hypnotic about the sound of snow crunching under the rushed steps of the team that surrounds him. It's an odd, reassuring mix that reminds him of the unpleasant creak of styrofoam and biting into a sno-cone. The stream of cropped dialogue on his headset reminds him of the actual situation at hand as Walter spots the men disperse and run toward the compound and their planned attack points. They have to move fast, before anyone becomes alert of their presence on the periphery of the complex.

The snowfall continues but has diminished in its strength.

White is to his left, and Mulder and Diana are right ahead of him, bundled up as much as they can be. Their ragged breaths filter out in puffs of white through the spaces that their scarves and hats leave uncovered.

Guns ready to go, the group behind him darts to the left once they almost reach the entrance, rushing to reach the service entrance that they've identified as one of the cult's surveillance weaknesses. The door is rusted shut, but it's nothing that a little explosive won't be able to break through. It will definitely draw attention, and with it distract the guards to that side, allowing them to strike with lesser chances of a strong resistance where they have a weaker presence.

Mulder, White, Diana and he reach the main gate. There's no signs of alarm coming from inside the walls.

"How are we doing over there, guys?" Mulder asks on the radio.

"Thirty seconds," a voice responds. The explosives will make a nice bang.

Mulder meets his eyes and nods.

"Javier - Did you catch that?" White asks now, and Walter checks on the periphery and the path they just left in the snow. They have to rush; their sloppy steps through the blanket of snow are a dead giveaway of their presence.

"Copy. We're at our positions. Northeast corner is covered." A brief silence follows Esposito's confirmation. "Our _other_ friends are here too. Nice ruthless bunch. They're at the north wall."

Diana nods, and Walter can only guess at the slight smug amusement filling her face. It annoys him. Ever since the woman showed up at their makeshift bunker he has been on edge. He can tell that Mulder wasn't counting on it either, but as they say… _Keep them close._

"Copy that." White cocks his gun. "Wait for the signal then."

"Copy." Esposito confirms.

Walter can only hope that everyone is clear on the secondary part of their plan. The added objective of siding with the syndicate and their supersoldiers was to let the Cult unknowingly help them out, to make a dent into this supposed ally. The cult knows that bullets will do no damage to these "tools" when they become disposable, but magnetite will… and they are fully loaded with the mineral. While they know that the supersoldiers will effectively avoid their reserves located on the roof, the plan is set so that a part of their renegade group rigs a bomb that will spread the mineral on them, timely neutralizing that front.

Is it a dick move? Yeah. But this is part of it all. It can't be helped. Dick moves are a necessary evil.

"West point ready," a voice confirms. The explosion is set to go off. He mentally counts it.

_5...4...3...2...1…_

The sound wave travels like a roar, disturbing the silence that enveloped the area until now; dull but loud at the same time, padded by the snow that travels in an almost dream-like dusting, accompanying the vibrations and adding to the surreal character of this invasion. Rushed shouts immediately spark to life from inside the complex, urgent and anxious. Gunshots begin to ring out, followed by even more disgruntled screams.

White gets himself within eyeline of the front-side look out and effectively delivers a shot to his head while Mulder shoots the hinges off the gate. They fracture easily thanks to a combination of the impact and the cold temperature. They push with all their might until the door caves in, allowing them entrance.

The hall inside is narrow; a perfect setting… or a very bad one, depending on their ability to respond back. White goes in first and Mulder follows, shooting down a couple of men that come from the side office shooting at them. Their bullets fly past but not one lands its mark. Skinner's heart rate soars, the rush of his blood in his ears makes for a distorting element among the noises around him. It's been a while since he was involved in a situation like this one; the young man that was part of stealth operations during the war is awake and thriving now though. _Nice to have you back, old friend_ , he thinks amused by the irony of it all. He'd thought that he'd never get to feel this adrenaline rush again.

Shouts come from the larger uncovered patio in the middle of the complex; he's sure that by now the cult knows that they're being attacked from different fronts. They stand still, leaning firmly against the walls on each side of the hall, out of sight of anyone readying to shoot them as they try to go further in. The ground is covered in snow making for a nice aid to let them know of anyone approaching their way, so they stand in silence, trying to distinguish any telltale crunch from the stream of shouts coming from other areas of the complex.

One crunch. Two… from the right. Three consecutive ones overlapping each other; there's at least two of them out there.

Mulder signals White to count it. He nods back, mentally pacing himself and launching the strike out in the open as they follow him, covering the flanks. Shots ring out, landing on bodies, concrete blocks and metal sheeting; dull thuds and groans, a relieving sound to them as the men and women waiting for them fall one after another. Skinner looks back at his group; White was grazed on his left shoulder, a weak smudge of blood stains his jacket, but he seems thoroughly unaffected by it.

Their intel placed at least forty-five adults and twenty teens that could be able to fight back their incursion. It's a sizeable group spread through the equally sizeable complex. He only hopes he doesn't have to shoot down a kid today. Walter doesn't think he can rationalize it, no matter how much he pegs it on the search for the "greater good" - They're ultimately victims as well. He knows better though than to think that dialogue will be any good in this situation.

He hopes that Mulder doesn't have to resort to that either.

More than a few months ago they'd encountered that scenario. Mulder hadn't been able to dodge it. While Walter hadn't been part of it in any way, he had to hear all about it through Maggie. Shooting a fifteen year old had broken him just enough that Scully had called in the middle of the night… distraught, looking for some comfort. She'd tried not to describe the whole situation, she'd tried. But Maggie had known better, reading on her the alarm signals of many of her friends as they told stories of their husband's traumas during war. It sparked a plethora of anguished conversations that questioned the real need of this torturous mission and the moral implications behind it. She'd made him promise - his wife has lost a husband already, a daughter - she'd earned the normalcy of a worry-free life in her older age. They've all lost so much, especially their collective innocence.

A sound from coming from his right alerts him as a woman in her thirties starts shooting a rifle at them from above. They duck for cover, Mulder chancing a shot or two back, but they're sitting targets from this position. They spread in all directions; Diana and him peek and shoot above them, blindly, hoping for the best, but no dice; the shots and taunting screams keep on coming. White tries as well, his shot hitting another shooter hiding behind a pillar next to their main threat. They need to take her down.

More shouting and the distinct sounds of a body being dragged over a wood floor follows. Walter hopes that whoever is still up there isn't getting ready to bring armed reinforcements, or this could become a dangerous funnel to die in.

By his calculations, the shooter is at a vantage point directly above them, between him and Diana, but hidden enough so that it's hard for the others to have a clean shot. More taunting shouts come in their direction, a couple of bullets that land closer to their mark, and then the clear ring of a semi-automatic, followed by the heavy thud of the woman's body falling from her high spot and onto the blood splattered snow.

"You're clear!" Doggett's voice shouts out, and relief floods him. They're in.

Mulder and White are the first to come out, rushing to take the weapons off the bodies laying on the patio. Diana follows, approaching the bodies as well, delivering a _coups de grace_ to their heads for good measure. The action surprises them somewhat, but in hindsight the measure is the _correct_ one.

Doggett and Esposito join them as they come down the side stairs.

"Everyone whole?" White asks them as he examines his own wound, and they nod their confirmation.

"They're headed deeper into the main hall across the building," Esposito informs them.

"...Scully back at the hideout?" Mulder asks. Walter knows that he's implicitly asking for William as well.

Doggett uncovers some of his face, discarding the tight hat covering his head, sweat matting his hair despite the frigid temperatures.

"We had to bring her with us; she's in the van," he begins, and Mulder immediately reacts in a silent protest of worried anger and Doggett tries to calm him down. "Mulder, we couldn't afford to leave her behind-"

"Especially with-" Esposito tries to chime in.

"The fuck were you thinking?" Mulder grits out, getting in John's face before Diana walks over to stop him from making the situation any worse.

"Fox… this is not the time," she says, taking off her own coverings and unbuttoning her collar.

"What the hell-" Esposito says, startled, meeting alarmed eyes with Doggett who immediately draws his gun, pointing it at the woman and pushing her to the ground.

Mulder and Walter react as well, surprised at the heightened response from the two men. White draws his gun at them, unsure of this turn of events.

"Doggett, lower it!" Skinner orders, trying to get a grasp on the situation. "She's with us. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

But the man doesn't comply, grabbing the woman from her arm, pulling her to their side while Esposito takes the gun in her hand away.

" _She's with us!?_ " Javier counters, disbelieving, his nostrils flaring and eyes intense. "Then who's the woman that's tailing the _others_ with the rest of _our group_!?"

"Now it makes sense…" John says in realization, taking a deep breath.

"What do you mean?" Mulder meets eyes with Walter, and then John, his own anxiety noticeably rising.

"Mulder… _Diana_ came into our hideout before we got the call," Doggett explains as he continues to push the barrel to the head of the woman. "She was part of our strike group as we came in. She's with Monica and Beckett… and the supersoldiers. There's just no way- I don't know who… _what_ … this is."

Mulder and Skinner meet eyes with her. To her benefit, she's sporting an equally surprised expression on her face.

"Fox. You have to believe me, I know _nothing_ of this." Her plea sounds sincere, Walter assesses, but who's to tell what's the truth in this moment.

"We have to get to them, right away," Mulder urges, pushing into his jacket the additional guns he's picked up from the prone bodies.

"There lies a problem," Esposito interjects, staying behind as White and Mulder begin their way to the staircase. "We need to find another way into that part of the complex. The fire door shut as we came in this way, they're on the other side of it. The main upper hallway is blocked."

* * *

"I'd feel much better if we had more of a balanced and mixed group here," Beckett whispers to Reyes as they follow their cohorts. They've been marching down the main hallway of a fish bone like structure for some minutes now. The building is old, but some repairs have been done here and there, possibly to suit the inhabitants. Still, the age and daunting character of the previously abandoned industrial structure is evident and adds a layer of mystery to their mission. They run into some resistance, but they dispose of it as fast as it comes at them. If there's anything positive to say about the shady but remarkable fortitude of the group that's walking with them, it's that they've feared none of the obstacles so far.

She has to think about them that way, _obstacles_ , not people, not victims, not innocents.

Kate had put in the call. The ball was rolling and the guys were on their way to get the drawings out of evidence lockup. She was living up to her part of the deal and then some… still, getting back to the mechanics of this operation, there's something unsettling about the fact that for the last fifty feet or so they haven't run into _any_ cult members. There oughta be more. _Where are they retreating to? Where's Castle?_ She only hopes that he hasn't strayed away from the plan… as he often does.

"We're supposed to be working in _collaboration_ , aren't we?" Monica answers back, sarcasm laced deep, and that doesn't ease the gut feeling that's brewing inside her. Her instincts are alert and flaring like a live wire. "I'd be more concerned about the fact that I haven't seen a clear escape route yet. That fire door really screwed this up."

The two women tail behind Diana Fowley; she walks with her gun drawn as well, alert. One of the men of the group stalls, stepping aside and into one of the halls to their left, checking for any cult members in what seems to be a large mess hall.

"Do you think it's wise to have Scully stay behind without any of us to back her up?" Kate asks as she flanks her gun toward the door to her right, preempting any strikes.

"Honestly, nothing about this is wise. But at least she's not a sitting duck. I know that she has an added _element of vulnerability_..." Monica answers referring to William, as she leans on the other side of the door frame. "But if I know anything about her, it's that she can hold her own. Plus, the van will allow her to escape if things get… interesting."

No one's in the room.

This is not sitting well for Beckett. She knows that this is a strike, and that there's a fair chance that Castle and Ally could still be in danger despite having been able to send the signal. She fears that their attack has put them in a larger danger that they can't communicate.

Suddenly, the group ahead of them stops. Not one word is exchanged but three of them take off into the next room to their left and the rest into the open space to their right, leaving Fowley, Beckett and Reyes behind with the one male supersoldier left tailing them.

Kate had been warned about their abilities to communicate amongst them, but this is unnerving. As much as they are an effective killing machine, she doesn't feel supported by them in any way. They're just… tagging along without no actual sense of teamwork. Not like Esposito and Ryan would have provided. Not like Castle would have, always watching her back, despite his improvised and inventive ways. His nonconformant ways are unnerving at times, but she'd rather have that now.

"Nothing to worry about." Fowley must have sensed her hesitation."We were bound to separate at some point. We need to cover more ground than staying as a group allows."

"Sure…" Monica responds, hesitant as they find themselves transferring to the head of their advance, and Kate can't help but spot the obvious distrust the woman continues to have in their _host._

"We should continue ahead, at least go past the next fire door; don't give them the chance to trap us in." Fowley proposes, as she ushers them ahead.

Construction supplies rest against the walls as they walk: pieces of plywood and buckets of premixed plaster. A few steps ahead, tools and plastic sheeting cover the floors as paint buckets sit on top, uncovered, as if the people in charge left mid-task. Every surface in the remaining part of the hall has been painted the same shade of cerulean blue... Including the fire door itself. It sits heavy and half open, the jarring monotone's dizzying effect is only broken by the contrasting, worn, dark linoleum tiles that have been half torn away.

"Straight ahead…" Fowley continues ushering them along; Kate half-heartedly starts her way towards it, careful to not let her guard down, but Monica stops her.

"No. Don't." She hisses.

"What is it?" Beckett meets the woman's eyes and they're full of wild anguish.

"We can't- The door-" Monica turns around, her movements quick as she trains her gun back on Fowley for the second time in less than a couple of hours. "This is what William warned me about."

"What are you doing?" Beckett asks as she sees the former FBI agent push back on Fowley.

Feedback noise fills their headsets making them wince. The guys must be trying to get to them and the thick walls must be preventing it.

"This is a setup," Monica hisses back, aiming her venom at the woman before her. "You're separating us to make your way back to Scully and William, aren't you? You're not here to help us at all!"

Behind Fowley, the small army of supersoldiers comes back into the hall. There's no possible way that they could escape them, or fight them back. They're trapped.

"Monica, do you copy? Beckett, are you getting any of this?" Esposito's voice on their headsets makes them jump, distracting everyone. Monica uses this advantage to kick one of the leaning wood pieces between them and the menacing group and to push Kate into the dorm room next to them, pushing the door closed and hurrying to block it with a bunk bed and a shelf against it.

"Espo, where are you?" Kate answers back, urgent, trying to carry more objects to block the way in as they hear the entities outside trying to get in.

"The woman, Diana Fowley... " Espo comes through the radio again, the audio broken down and choppy. "Is she with you?"

"Yes, sorta," Beckett responds, still trying to make sense of what's going on and covering Monica who jams a few slim found pamphlets in the door frame, reinforcing the blocked entrance. She looks behind her at the long room. They need a way out.

"Guys, we've got replicants-" John's voice this time. Monica cringes at this. The radio keeps breaking up so she pulls out her cellphone. This is becoming a shitshow.

"What does he mean by that?" Kate asks Monica, worried as she follows her, making their way down the room and away from the door.

"There's more than one copy of the same supersoldier," Reyes responds as she tries dialing, reaching a window and trying to pry it open, but it's painted shut. "By the looks of it… we have at least two Diana Fowleys."

The woman kicks the glass, frustrated, but the wire mesh safety glass is a tough contender against the strong boots Monica wears. The call isn't going through either. "As if _the one_ wasn't enough…"

Kate pulls out her own cellphone, two signal bars; she hands it over and Monica hurries to try and get through. Luckily, it doesn't take long.

What did she mean by ' _what William warned her about'?_ Did she lead them into this situation with special knowledge that could have made a difference? Why did she keep it to herself?

"We have a bigger problem at hand, John," Reyes barks the minute the call connects, taking a pause and scanning the room for something to bust open the window. The guys outside continue to pound on the door and Beckett can't help the bile that starts to creep up; the anxiety and fear of feeling utterly powerless wars with the sensation of being equally willing to shoot and fight their way out of this. It's colliding in an overpowering mix.

"They're turning on us, they separated us." Reyes puts the cell phone on speaker and onto a nearby bunk while she grabs onto a metal chair, aiming her gun at the glass.

"Cover your face," Monica advises Kate, and she proceeds to shoot a couple of rounds through the window panel.

"They're going to go after Scully," Monica continues to inform him as she beats the window with the newfound tool. Beckett grabs onto the cleared wire and pushes on it until it loosens.

"Are you okay?" John asks, concern evident in his voice but the woman before her isn't showing any signs of weakness. Unlike her. The situation is breaking her resolve; the walls are closing in on Kate's careful but precarious mental mantra; her peripheral vision reduced, this is not a good time for a flare. She needs to keep it together. She wants to scream and let it out. She wants to be in charge, but this is not the time to be rivaling. Kate needs the silent and perhaps stupid reassurance that the comfort of her partner being by her side brings. Whether it's day to day drudgery or when they charge into unknown situations, surprises behind doors and threats that test their resolve… Castle is the one thing that remains.

"We're okay, _for now_. We're trying to find a way out of this room," she informs, and Kate is somehow relieved to have that admittance, that she's not alone. Beckett peeks through the newly cleared space in the window, and her stomach sinks. The window is a ways away from any roof they could jump onto. Monica chances a look as well and cringes at this realization as another loud thump comes from the other side of the door; a couple of shots ring out and make their way into the room.

"We're on our way back and into the west entrance. Mulder just took off and is trying to get a hold of Scully. Beckett… We have to call in to the NYPD cavalry," John informs them and Beckett fears that they've come to this realization too late. "Even if on our end we're making a dent, we're definitely outnumbered now."

"Have you located Ally and Castle?" Beckett asks, trying to control the quiver in her voice.

"Not yet, but the team is on the northwest corner of the roof. We're heading that way." John sounds breathless, possibly going up the flight of stairs on that side of the building at the moment.

"I'll make the call…" Kate confirms, while the pounding at the door is getting the best of the materials between them. "Just- let me know when you have some confirmation of their whereabouts."

"What about you guys?" John asks, but as they're about to give some half-assed reassurance of their safety, the noise outside ceases abruptly.

"Beckett? Monica?" John barks through the phone, worried.

Silence can only mean one thing, and Monica agrees with Kate as she grabs onto the phone again and squeezes her eyes. They were _so_ careless.

"John, I think they're headed your way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Thank you so much for those of you that have kept at it! The ones that dare to review are quite the sunshine lollipop to me... As I lead towards the end of this story, it is my sincere hope that you've enjoyed it.
> 
> As always, thank you so much to Ky for digging her teeth into meaty chapters despite being under the weather and reeling me back in for those details I gloss over. And to the amazing girls (and boys?) on twitter, you are the bomb.
> 
> BWJ


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on The Essence of Existence:
> 
> "We're okay, for now. We're trying to find a way out of this room," she informs, and Kate is somehow relieved to have that admittance, that she's not alone. Beckett peeks through the newly cleared space in the window, and her stomach sinks. The window is a ways away from any roof they could jump onto. Monica chances a look as well and cringes at this realization as another loud thump comes from the other side of the door; a couple of shots ring out and make their way into the room.
> 
> "We're on our way back and into the west entrance. Mulder just took off and is trying to get a hold of Scully. Beckett… We have to call in to the NYPD cavalry," John informs them and Beckett fears that they've come to this realization too late. "Even if on our end we're making a dent, we're definitely outnumbered now."
> 
> "Have you located Ally and Castle?" Beckett asks, trying to control the quiver in her voice.
> 
> "Not yet, but the team is on the northwest corner of the roof. We're heading that way." John sounds breathless, possibly going up the flight of stairs on that side of the building at the moment.
> 
> "I'll make the call…" Kate confirms, while the pounding at the door is getting the best of the materials between them. "Just- let me know when you have some confirmation of their whereabouts."
> 
> "What about you guys?" John asks, but as they're about to give some half-assed reassurance of their safety, the noise outside ceases abruptly.
> 
> "Beckett? Monica?" John barks through the phone, worried.
> 
> Silence can only mean one thing, and Monica agrees with Kate as she grabs onto the phone again and squeezes her eyes. They were so careless.
> 
> "John, I think they're headed your way."

They run; muted shouts come from places they can't pinpoint, crashes distorted by their echo and the deafening sound of bullets hitting metal and concrete. Castle instinctively ducks and flinches every time. The smell is thick, considering how industrial and stark everything seems around them, yet he can almost taste the distinct aroma of pungent earth.

He's been following Ally through the dark hallways of the basement level and as much as they can tell, the gunfight is happening upstairs. The explosion had served for a great way to announce their arrival, shaking the quiet stillness around them. They ran into a pair of bleary eyed twenty-somethings that in any other time he'd have advocated to dissuade from a violent approach, but they were far from that possibility. After a brief exchange of lead on both parts… both men had fallen to the ground. The weight of every death that happens today is something he doesn't want to rationalize just yet, but he knows, sooner or later, their decisions will come to haunt him. Right now, he justifies it on the notion that the other men shot first.

They have to be careful, there isn't a clear opportunity to reload on ammo if they run out… and chances are that they will.

Their surroundings are confusing; a maze that Castle is sure will act against them if they don't make it to surface fast. Ally stands at a crosspath looking left and right, trying to decide; listening for something, for a sign, for the voices he can't hear. He kneads his neck, sore muscles beginning to protest, and then he sees his hand. Soot-like dust covers his skin, a thin layer that shimmers dully, highlighting the lines of his palms. The walls are covered with it, it hangs in the air as the pools of light from the overhead lamps catch it suspended around them.

Ally turns around, most likely catching his stream of thoughts, and examining the dust on her own hands.

"This is it," she says. "Hold on to your metal things, because this stuff is pretty wicked." She walks further to her left and he follows, still not quite sure what she means. More black dust is noticeable, stuck to the walls, in thick clumps around the scarce metal objects lying around; nails, staples, grids… forming weird stalactites that he'd expect inside a cave somewhere.

A layer of clear plastic sheeting separates them from a cave-like room lit by work lights; Ally pulls the sheeting away from the frame, revealing the source of the soot.

Magnetite. Lots of it.

* * *

**NYPD - 12th Precinct.  
** **Manhattan, NY**

"On my count, you'll have ten minutes to make this happen." Hasting hears Detective Ryan, loud and clear, even though he's whispering his orders too close to the microphone of his cellphone.

"Copy that." She nods to Velazquez and the other woman in uniform puts the NYPD's utility van in drive, out of their reserved garage spots and onto the covered alleyway that leads to the loading dock. This is the closest that they're going to get to the evidence lockers, but arguably not close enough for it to not have its set of risks.

With the state of affairs at the Twelfth, no one had questioned them accessing the vehicle. There's small favors in this chaos, Anne thinks. _Ten minutes_ , to rush through the halls and extract the boxes filled with the catalogued drawings that Beckett and Mulder instructed her to take out of custody.

The logical part of her wants to find a good cover story to save their asses when whoever with enough free time and a penchant for being nitpicky proceeds to investigate and comes looking for them. Deep down, she knows that the odds of that happening might be small when the people assigned to that are the ones that are actually doing the stealing. _They're stealing from themselves_ , she rationalizes… and says a silent prayer to the cop gods that Internal Affairs doesn't catch a sniff of all of this.

The rolling gate is already up when Velazquez backs the van toward the elevated ledge. LT is waiting for her and checking for anyone looking their way.

"Call me if anything seems out of place," Hastings instructs the other woman, and she squares her with a look. _Out of place_ , right. They're out of place. "You know what I mean."

Anne climbs out the back and into the building, rushed as LT follows her. The man is always so poised and calm; it's almost unnerving how she's never seen him lose his cool even with the most ruthless and stubborn perps they've taken in. But there's a flinch today, a tell, his left hand cracking knuckles absentmindedly. She can live with that.

Not a word is exchanged. They've gone over this.

They pass the first long hallway; the cameras have been rerouted to fixed footage, just like the ones around the compound. Only Ryan has the live feed streaming to his own personal laptop. He's taking a gamble on this if they were to be dragged into a witch hunt. All of their careers would be over if anyone with enough power were to go after them. _Well_ , maybe not his, but _hers_ , definitely. They're expendable, she knows.. but that's exactly why she needs to prove the worth of _her team._

As they're about to cross from one secured door to the one across the hall, LT stops her, a protective arm across her chest and she meets eyes with the man. He looks from her to the opposite end of the hall: one of the oldest maintenance ladies is mopping the floor. They can't be seen by anyone that could refer to their activities, especially since this isn't a place they'd normally be hanging around.

"Just wait it out," he whispers.

"We can't, " she responds, hushed too.

"Do you see any other option here?" LT's eyes are wide on her. They don't have one, really, and it's the most excruciating thing to see the seconds tick away on the regulation wall clock that she now finds so convenient in her eyeline. There's one on every floor of the building, and she's never quite minded them, or even noticed them really… but now its thin second hand rotating swiftly over the contrasting white circle is just mocking her.

She could call Ryan and let him know that they've run into a delay, but could he really do something about it?

The rattle of the wheels of the Rubbermaid cart as it rolls away and the pang of the swinging doors let them know that the woman has made her slow way out of their portion of the hallway. They both release the breath they've been holding as they rush across and into the next hall. Just two cages away and Johnson will be there promptly, waiting at the back door of the lock up.

"I told my girlfriend I'd never run away with a blonde…" LT says, suddenly. "You better have my ass back safe and sound by tonight, before an angry Venezuelan morena comes after both our asses with a machete… or even worse, her screams."

Hasting snorts, the out of place joke is surprisingly relieving. They reach the door and tap the agreed signal to announce their arrival and Johnson opens immediately, urgency spread all over her features in a mix of nerves and adrenaline.

"You only have six minutes left!" She scolds, pushing the cart loaded with boxes and bags corresponding to the case.

"This is a lot," LT considers. "There's more than maps here. This is all we collected from the scene-"

"Not everything, only what doesn't pertain to the actual shooting," Anne clarifies. " _As if they'd never existed,_ remember?"

"Sure… I'm sure that won't cause _any_ problems," he humors as he pulls the cart through the door and they start their way back.

"I'll call you to confirm we're out," Anne says by way of assurance to Johnson, but the woman shakes her head.

"Don't- the less trail we have, the better," Johnson says, and Hastings understands. "I'll be the one calling you if there's anyone suspicious." Laura is going to have to brave the front there until they're in the clear. She's best not having much contact with them, and though she's sure she'll miss the excitement in the field, this is her mission. Guarding this front from prying eyes is her number one priority.

Anne nods her confirmation as she walks backwards, catching up with LT, throwing one last salute and mouthing a _thank you_ to her friend. This better just be another story to laugh at as they share a couple beers a few days from now.

She opens the door to the hallway; it's clear. They push the cart across and onto the door to the exit hallway but as she's about to close the door behind them, LT stops her.

"Fuck, Anne." He points to the linoleum floor, still humid from the previous mopping, and now smeared as they walked their path in an out.

"Go, I'll meet you in a minute," she says and he shakes his head as he rushes out back. Hastings pats her pockets finding a small bottle of antibacterial gel. "This will have to do."

She squirts the gel onto the floor and starts wiping the stains off the linoleum with her shirt's sleeve when she hears the swinging doors open behind her, a sense of dread going through her like a bolt of lightning as she freezes.

"Calm down, it's me." Detective Ryan's voice is just above a whisper, noticing her cat like fright. She immediately turns around, relieved, cleaning off the last of the smears and straightening up with a question on her face. "You weren't picking up."

Hastings extracts her phone. No bars, _great_.

"What is it?"

"Esposito called, we're deploying earlier than expected," he informs her.

On one end, this is better for them, providing a justifiable cover to leave the building without much suspicion, but on the other hand, many more eyes will be on them if they don't hurry to secure their spot away from the crews involved.

Anne nods, confirming her understanding to Ryan. "Got it. Got it."

"We may need you guys for some extra… tasks," he says, hesitant. "Do you all have your backup pieces?"

Anne nods.

"Good, check in with Esposito when you're… done." He's freaking out a little, she can tell.

Hasting starts her way to the door, but stops short before crossing. "Why did you come this way? You could have waited until-"

Ryan points to the camera. "I couldn't get through, and then I saw the smears; I figured that you'd stall because of this, and if you didn't notice them... I'd have to wipe them myself," he says, producing a wad of napkins out of his back pocket.

She shakes her head in amusement and throws the sweet pea scented gel to the detective as she points to the floor, now smeared with his own footsteps.

"Your turn," she says as she walks briskly back out, closing the door behind her.

LT and Velazquez have loaded the van in her absence, complete with the cart.

"What took you so long?" Velazquez asks, harried.

LT rolls down the gate behind them, and jumps in the back, closing the doors while the two women get in through the front side doors.

"Adjustment of plans," Anne says meeting her cohort's eyes. "We may get a chance to shoot a bullet or two. Better get ready guys."

* * *

Doggett surveys the operation being carried out just a level above them; the guys are holding on, but there's not a body to spare. Luckily everyone is whole, with no noticeable hits. On the other hand, the cult has sustained some damage; a couple of bodies lay to his right, stillness over the white ground. A woman's body lays doubled over the elevated ledge of the roof on the east portion of the building, surely she was on sniper duty, but the ruthless group on their side is too skilled for the cult's attempts to hold court.

The situation inside the building is slowly slipping away from their preconceived plan but this one… this one is at least going accordingly. Trap the members so that they resort to desperate measures, but only at the right time.

John cracks his neck, briefly meeting eyes with a silent Diana who timidly stands behind him; she's been silent since their blowout and it unnerves him.

"They're cornering a sizeable group from the cult up on the roof," he informs Skinner, Esposito and White as they meet on the landing between the second and third levels of the building. "I counted fifteen, at least. We need to keep them there. We have to lure the super soldiers into this hall; keep them busy until we're ready."

"Well, they're coming this way," Esposito confirms as he finishes climbing the second flight of stairs a little winded. The three men had rushed to improvise a barricade with the debris left over from the explosion of the west gate the minute that Monica voiced her suspicions. Sure enough, they were already forcefully ramming and trying to enter the building, biting at their heels.

"This is happening too fast. I don't think we can hold off that diversion for too long," Walter admits, weary. Doggett isn't confident in their ability either, but there isn't much they can do otherwise. They need to protect their hand.

"We're gonna have to, if we want to carry out the plan as it was…" They'd known that the kamikaze tendency of the cult when they see themselves backed into this kind of situation is to resort to desperate measures, and sure enough many of them are wearing suicide vests. They need those bombs to work to their advantage, so they have to tread carefully, push just the right amount.

"Any word from Ally?" Walter asks. More pounding, it comes in stereo and enhanced by the hollowness of the staircase.

"No, not yet." Doggett is weary; they should have heard from her already. She had established two methods: She'd secure a phone from one of the members of the cult or they'd meet here, at this staircase. He suspects though that the fire doors or the layout of the place might have become jarring even for her. "We need that magnetite."

Once they have the magnetic compound and can carry it with them to the roof, they'll activate the C4 and _make it rain…_ as she had said, on top of the supersoldiers, diminishing their defenses, and making them vulnerable, giving them a chance to decimate them.

"Okay, here's what we do," Esposito intervenes. "John, White - secure the end of this hall - act as containment. Once you create a funnel, Skinner and I will lure them-"

"They'll snap you in a second. They're following _her_ lead. The other "me" - She'll- They'll want to kill me," Diana explains, stepping up. "Use me. I'll be the bait."

"How can they even know you're not the other one? And why would they want to kill you?" White challenges.

"Believe me."

The motivations and abilities of this the automaton group are just a blank shadow to them at this point, especially with the recent turning of events. John worries that they set themselves up irremediably the minute Mulder set up this deal. _Did they ever have a chance?_

"They _knew_ that you wouldn't question _my_ presence, it would be normal, if uncomfortable; it would just rattle you," she continues.

"That's right," Walter challenges. " _We_ didn't question your presence too much when you showed up at the shed. Like you said, _we had a deal._ And John didn't either _because_ of that deal… what's to say that you're not playing the same game? Confusing us? Separating us?"

"Why are they not trying to contact me then? Why are they not checking in and strategizing with _me_?" Diana continues. "They've taken over the operation, they're trying to get to William and cancel out Mulder and the cult from this equation. There's another one of me because they know I wouldn't break my promise to him, yet they needed to maintain appearances."

She makes a point, but they've been fooled before. Mulder has been fooled before.

"I knew nothing about this. I believed in their word, in their solution to come together. They don't trust me anymore… they will want to kill me."

John meets eyes with Walter. _Can they afford to believe her now?_

"If they believe that I'm still on their side, we have the upper hand. I can make them think that I believe I'm still part of the whole scheme."

They have to make a choice fast, the supersoldiers are closing in.

John sees it now: Diana's initial deal with Mulder, as much as it didn't include that she'd be with their strike team...was made out of loyalty. Her presence with them was because she missed her old partner… perhaps a human part of her was still alive in there. Meanwhile the syndicate had played on this weakness while she wasn't looking; _the other Diana_ was doing intelligence, learning where Scully and William would be, where the other part of the team would strike - They're neutralizing them. It is a very confusing day when you can't even rule over your own likeness. The syndicate used her as well, to betray what little humanity she had left, the little loyalty she reserved for Fox Mulder. He understands, finally.

All in all, if this Diana were in it with _them_ , wouldn't they have been here already, anticipating their moves?

They may still be able to hold a small advantage over them.

"We need to continue with the plan," John resolves, not entirely convinced but making best use of their limited time.

Nothing they shoot at them will make more than a brief dent that they'll recover from a few minutes later. Diana can lure them in.

"Seal the pack from behind," White orders Esposito and Skinner, confirming the previous setup. They'll climb the half flight of stairs just above, to defer the supersoldiers from surprising their team above in case they lead that way.

"We'll contain them until we can strike… It'll be what it'll be." White shrugs at John and he takes a deep breath. They can't really afford to settle, but he's right.

"That's the ones that are here," Esposito points out. "They overheard that call. We can't assume that the whole group headed this way."

What about Monica and Beckett on the other side of the complex? How are they sure that they're not still waiting for them to strike now that they know they're dispersed throughout the building with no real lethal weapon against them. How many of them might be going after Mulder and Scully… and William?

"Until your cavalry gets here, there's little we can do. And even then I doubt that we'd have enough hands that won't question people that don't die when shot point blank," Doggett responds to Esposito as he hands an extra gun to Skinner. He heads deeper into the hall before them, exchanging a challenging look with Diana as she starts her way downstairs and onto her task.

They need Ally. They need to secure the magnetite, and they need to get Richard Castle out of harms way before… before it's too late. Right now, everyone is a sitting duck.

* * *

"Dammit!"

Mulder runs down the snowed-in sidewalks, circling the complex, making his way back toward the east side of the block where he presumes she might have ensconced herself; on one of the side streets, near but not too close. He checks left and right for any members of the cult that may have come back.

"Pick up, Scully. Pick up!" He barks into the phone. He's dialed five times by now but to no avail. She isn't picking up and the biggest sense of dread is settling in his stomach. He reaches the main entrance, taking a careful peek to check on the bodies left behind. They're still there, and as ominous as it sounds, it means that no one else has been there. He picks up a leftover gun and starts his way out when he feels the towering presence behind him.

Knowle Rohrer, in the unnatural flesh… and three other beefcakes flanking him on each side. Threatening, the man dives at him, but Mulder slides, fast, running towards the staircase to his left and down toward the basement of the building. Another replicant, he thinks as he runs. The man should have been done with after their meet in the desert over ten years ago. He needs to find a way back to surface and out of the complex.

He takes a right and stumbles, tripping on a body… there's two of them. Shot dead. _Ally?_ he wonders, considering shouting, but fearful of giving away his position. The bodies are not laid in any particular position that can tell him where she'd headed after, each to the side, but not quite facing forward. He continues past them and further down the hallway - the shouts and noises diminishing - he's definitely going the wrong way. There's no boot sounds, there's nothing… he's lost in this maze.

Mulder takes a cautious step into the door to his right, an office… and he realizes his mistake a second too late.

"I knew I'd see you sooner rather than later, Agent Mulder."

The edge of the knife on his throat is as cold and harsh as the sluggish voice of Curtis Weaver.


	34. Chapter 34

"The crew from the 12th and the 54th will arrive first," Gates directs into the phone while pacing behind her desk. The documents and lists that had been put together not too long ago vibrate in her hands, briefly giving away the nervousness she's been trying to hide from the rest of her personnel. "They're set to go and confirmed. FDNY paramedics are also alerted and on their way."

The communication with her lead detective is choppy. The hollowness of the line and her voice comes in hushed and rushed. In the year plus that she's known Kate Beckett, Gates figures that she's not being forthcoming with all that's going on. Well, she's sure of that already, but Victoria Gates suspects that this time around, she's even deeper than she can imagine.

Right now, the fourth floor of the precinct is full, in a rushed pace that will soon die down as everyone boards and heads down to the site… sure enough, none of the usual suspects are around; not even Ryan. _Someone has to command this ship_ , she thinks, justifying the fact that she's staying behind, but she knows that she's far from the wheel right now.

"Thank you, Captain. Agent Miller and DD Smith-" Beckett begins to explain on the other end.

"Beckett, no need to explain what's going on." Gates cuts her off before she comes up with some half-assed story to cover for what she knows by now is a set up. She'll spare the woman the embarrassing need to come up with yet another lie.

"Yes, sir."

The Victoria Gates of before - the one that hadn't dealt with Roy Montgomery's team - would have put a stop to all of this. Even though she knows that you have to look at the greyness of situations sometimes to move forward, to get the collar, to do the greater good. But working with this team has made her swallow some of that _Iron_ fame that she's so well known for.

"According to the rundown Karpowski and Sole put together," Gates continues, informing the woman, "Brooklyn, and the crews from the 20th and 187th will arrive next and that's about the entirety of our available manpower."

Manpower for an operation she will have to answer for, and she prays to the gods that she hardly believes in that this trust she's put - blindly - in the younger woman doesn't end a career that has been so carefully forged.

"I hope that's enough for…" Gates wishes halfheartedly as she takes a seat, contemplating whatever possibilities might present themselves. _For what?_ She may never know.

"It will have to be, sir." Beckett responds, solemn. The woman seems to get it, at least she hopes she does.

Kevin Ryan is back on the floor, checking over his shoulder, harried… the faithful man has worry written all over the youthful features that still hold tight, fighting the blows that the profession inflicts on all of them.

"Detective, take care of this team," she says, willing her trembling hand to stop revealing her secrets. The sigh on the other end is honest and sensible.

"Sir… that's my only intention."

And then the line cuts off.

Kevin Ryan is back at his post. The fourth floor of the Twelfth is mostly silent as a couple of phones ring on empty desks. Sadly, they will have to go unanswered.

* * *

Monica finishes tightening the knot she's made with the last of the sheets she took from the bunks. It will be a long enough rope, and if she had the time, she'd snicker at the ridiculous fact that this could only work in cartoons. _It will have to work now, though. It had better work._

Beckett finishes the call and hands back her phone. The woman's face tells her that there's more elements brewing storms inside her, but this is not the time to try and psychoanalyze her, as much as it would make for an interesting topic of conversation. Reyes is convinced that the token teammate she's acquired is quite the interesting specimen. In another life, maybe. For now, she'll have to trust the fame that precedes her.

"We have to get out there before they all get here." The detective gathers herself, as she takes one end of the makeshift rope and throws it out the window. "I don't think we'll be able to fend off many questions if we're not in charge."

_Questions_. Surprised and stoic cops that won't believe what they're fighting the minute that they figure out they're not shooting mere human beings. Some innocence will be lost today. Most likely, lives as well.

"There will be questions; we can't avoid them at this point," Monica mutters as she ties the other end of the rope to her waist.

"If we got this right, we'll be able to sneak behind the group holding up on the roof," Beckett says, assessing the topography of the building as she peeks out the window. They can hear some of the shouting in the distance. The percussion of guns going off has died a bit, and Monica thinks that most likely they're trying to negotiate a truce of sorts, but that would only be a moot point. Because a truce is not any part of this plan.

"I'd feel better if we got a hold of the magnetite beforehand." Kate worries her lip and Monica silently wonders if this woman ever imagined that this knowledge, _magnetite, supersoldiers, aliens, conspiracies_ and the like, were ever an expected possibility when detective Kate Beckett last woke up in her bed, ready for a run-of-the-mill day filled with typical NYPD business.

"Well, you never know. The way things are going, maybe we will." Monica smiles, but the levity goes unnoticed; better get to it. "Are you sure about this?"

Kate shrugs and Monica tests the knots again. She's going to have to hold the weight of the woman as she slides out the window and down the wall. They couldn't secure the rope to any structure inside the room that wouldn't collapse; she'll have to do. They tied a wool blanket as best as they could to minimize the friction on the cotton sheets.

"Do you see any other option?" Beckett responds, somewhat cocky, as she maneuvers a leg out through the opening of the window. "Besides, this is not my first time hanging from a ledge… just- hold on to the sheets."

_Not her first time…_ Right. Ask later.

"Got it." Monica holds on tight as she feels the tension instantly in her waist and hips, her feet bracing against the baseboards and her fists instinctively holding on tight. Beckett hasn't put her full weight on the rope, but the adrenaline is coursing through Reyes already. If she can't hold on, the detective will end up at the bottom of the pit outside this window.

"Lower me as much as you can," Beckett instructs, meeting her eyes briefly. "When I reach that roof level, I'll swing myself to it. Then… you do the same."

Monica nods her confirmation and Kate nods back as she takes a deep breath and lets go. The pull is strong, almost too strong. Even when the woman is slim and Reyes prides herself of her muscles, her legs start to feel the strain of carrying the load as her arms dose the speed with which she's letting Kate slide down.

The tension on the rope goes slack suddenly as the detective reaches the desired level. Monica refreshes her grip on the rope as she sees Kate hold onto the bricks and bars from the windows on a lower level. She pauses and looks up, meeting her eyes in confirmation. _Here goes nothing_ , as she propels herself back and forth towards the roof across the way. The tension on the rope comes back, fierce, different, almost overpowering her, but the protection at the edge is holding on, the threads are, _so far,_ intact. It will be interesting when it's her turn to climb down.

The cotton groans under her grip, once, twice… and then it's slack again. A sudden hollow feeling settles in her stomach and she quickly peeks out the window, seeing Kate Beckett pull herself up the edge of the roof.

"Your turn!" She shouts as she starts setting up a makeshift pulley on one of the pipes of the water tank to the right of her.

"I must have missed the memo that the NYPD now has circus classes," Monica mutters as she takes a deep breath and changes her ties to ones that will allow her to escape as well.

_Here goes nothing._

* * *

Castle holds open one of the makeshift bags Ally crafted out of the plastic sheathing and some staples from the gun in the tool box they'd found nearby. His hands and face are covered in the soot like powder that he keeps dusting off.

"How much of this are we supposed to take?" He closes the sixth bag and settles it on the ground. They won't be able to carry too many just on their own.

"As much as we can," she responds, starting and filling a seventh bag fast. "We'll lose some when the expansive wave shoots it in different directions, but you know, what goes up, must come down."

How this is going to work out and how they are supposed to go through the complex is still blurry to him.

"In the meantime, we need to secure a phone." Ally closes the bag, leaning it against the others. "This shit isn't working." The cordless phone she had pulled from Curtis' office was far out of the range from its base and going back was definitely not a good plan. They need a cellphone, preferably their own.

"I think we're good," she announces, looking around, and Castle wonders if they can find a way out without going back the way they came. Surely, if there are other people looking for them, when they find the bodies, it will be just a matter of time before they come this way.

No such luck. Back out in the hallway things are more silent than before. This could be good… or terribly bad. With no other sounds to mask their own, they move slowly, mindfully, carefully. Suddenly, there's an extra set of steps that are not their own. Firm and menacing. They dive into one of the nooks to their left. There's a wall of a man opposite and down the long hall, past the den opening they'd passed coming this way.

"Who is that?" He asks as he sees Ally's expression. It's not the neutral, pissed off one she's been sporting since they escaped Curtis.

"Old pal," she hisses. _Oh… a supersoldier?_ he thinks, and she nods. "Yeah, that kind."

"Can we throw some of this stuff at him? Would that work?" Castle queries.

"This close he can probably sense it- he's going to run away from it. We have to prevent that. We can't let him alert the others." She chances another look and he follows her gaze. The man is closer; Castle can hear him banging on doors. He obviously doesn't care for subtlety.

"You're going to have to face him," Ally tells him, grabbing the magnetite bags from him and dusting off the leftover soot.

"Me? Why?"

"He knows _me_ ; you'll catch him off guard. Just act like you think he's come to rescue you," she explains and takes his jacket away, dishevelling him more and meeting urgent eyes. "Get him to put his back to me. I'll do the rest."

Castle nods and takes a deep breath; he can pull this off. Hopefully this man won't pull his head off in the process.

"Man! Thank god! Are you with the NYPD?" Castle exclaims, running towards the tower of a man and doing his best to act aloof and unsuspecting. "I got lost down here. Are you here to rescue me?"

Knowle Rohrer takes a step back, definitely surprised by the presence he wasn't expecting. Castle can't tell if he finds him threatening, but he'll continue playing his part until he can seize him into the right position for Ally's onslaught. He grabs the man's arm attempting a friendly gesture but he immediately pulls back in haste.

"Who are you?" He asks, grabbing him by the neck and pushing him into the wall with a strength that he's never known, unknowingly putting himself in the perfect position for their purpose.

"I'm Richard Castle!" he shouts, struggling for air and... _God, what's taking Ally so long?_ He feels like this man could crush him like a toothpick. "Aren't you with the folks from the 12th? Can you lead me out?"

The last words come out almost as a whine and the man softens his grip just slightly.

"Sure, I just -" Knowle starts, his eyes studying his, before the explosive blow of a nail gun rings in the air and his face morphs into a shapeless melted surface that shakes and vibrates, moaning and screaming painfully. Castle takes cover, jumping to the side as the man collapses into a seizure with one of the magnetite bags stapled to his back. Ally stands close behind Rohrer, the nail gun still in her right hand and the 9mm in her other, aiming at the unrecognizable figure that explodes into a million pieces.

And then… silence.

"Jesus- That was horrifying," he says, getting up from the corner he landed in. Ally dusts off and runs back to haul up the bags they'd left behind, throwing a share back at Castle.

"He's just some copy. Don't be surprised if we run into him again," she says, nonchalantly.

"What?" He can feel the throbbing of a headache building up and he pushes the dread down as much as he can. Ally shakes her head as she steps over the leftover puddle that once was a deadly ex-marine.

"Grab the bag in the puddle. We need to find that phone," she says, continuing on her way, now on a different route to the right. He thinks he sees a staircase at the far end.

Castle feels like he needs a minute. He could really use a minute… but he doesn't have one. He gingerly reaches for the bag in disgust. _One day,_ he thinks. _One day I'll write about this and scoff at the absurdity._

* * *

Fifteen precious minutes have passed while Mulder tries to zero in on the sounds outside. He hasn't dared to move as his captor had shushed him with a paranoia-laced command. Something is unfolding, and he swears he heard Castle's voice but he can't be sure. The sounds come muffled in this maze and the nonsensical muttering that Curtis Weaver delivers so close to his head is not helping.

"I should have known this was all a setup," Weaver slurs, clearer now as he continues to push the knife into Mulder's skin. He doesn't dare breathe too deeply, or make any sudden movement. This is not the time to get wounded. Not yet. He needs to get to Scully… so he diverts.

"You've grown soft, Curtis," Mulder taunts as the man pushes him to the wall clumsily but still strong. Ally must have dosed him, he thinks. But not nearly enough.

"Old age must be hitting you hard; I hear there's a pill for that." He continues with his offensive chatter as the man pats him down and takes his pistol.

"Shut up," Weaver responds, irritated and violent, and still pushing him into the wall. The cold feel of the metal of his own gun now brands him on the left side of his ribcage. The man leans into him, his warm and sickening breath hitting his cheek.

"Come on, Curtis," Mulder half pleads, trying to reach out and pull on whatever humanity he may have the luck to find in him. "You can barely hold yourself upright. Surrender yourself. It will be much easier for you and all the people you claim to care for."

But he's far gone… much more than Mulder had assessed.

"I wouldn't be like this if it weren't for that cunt." The venom in his words is not comparable to any other encounter he's had with the man in the past. The sick slur coming out of him speaks volumes about the decomposition that he's gone through. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you about her; I'm sure you know her enough by now. You've probably enjoyed her like I did, right? She's a fiery little slut."

Mulder resists the urge to respond, fists tightening. He knows that Curtis could kill him right now if he doesn't play his cards right. He needs to think straight and not let his emotions get the best of him. This man destroyed Ally, took from her until he thought there was nothing left to give, nothing to hold on for, and Mulder takes pride in how they'd put her back together, pushing until she became what she is now. He's proud. The lascivious nature of his insinuations are offensive but not because he's accusing him of having the same motivations that he had, the toxic hunger and psychopathic addictions that Curtis Weaver enjoys. No, he couldn't care less about what Curtis thinks _he_ is. What angers him is that he's proud. Proud of his damage.

"What? Did I hit a nerve?" He slurs even closer now.

"I'm not like you, Weaver." Mulder hisses back, but plays his game. "You love being the filthy animal you've become. But the rest of the world doesn't have to step down to your methods to be able to get what we want."

Curtis laughs, a little more sober now. This worries Mulder. Soon he won't even have the narcotics to give him an upper hand over the man.

"But you want her, don't you?" Weaver pulls on his hair, violently, making him wince. "We all do. To possess that power of hers, subdue it."

He maneuvers him around, facing him now and putting the barrel of the gun under his chin.

"I tell you something, Mulder… since we're here talking about possessing…" Curtis licks his lips, a sickening smile growing slowly. "You have him, don't you? It's a lie. I know it's a lie. William isn't dead."

"You'll never get your hands on him," Mulder hisses and the man pushes even harder now.

"I will, and you will let me." Curtis folds the knife and pockets it. "Walk! You're going to take me to where he is."

The possibilities spin in his head as Curtis leads him back up the hall he came from. Maybe they'll run into Rohrer; the supersoldier could actually become an advantageous coincidence. But as they reach the main hall, he sees the telltale puddle on the floor. Mulder does the math. _At least they're making their way out_ , he thinks, trying to see the silver lining.

He needs to find a way to steer Curtis away from his goal before he runs out of patience and his unstable tendencies start calling the shots.

* * *

The heating has been keeping them comfortable as Scully checks on the cases they've loaded in the back. Again. There's really no point to it; she knows what's in there. They have enough of an arsenal that she's sometimes questioned it. _Boy's toys_ , she's called the collection of weaponry for war.

William follows her movements around the cabin, not the slightest bit surprised at the sight of some of the contents; UZIs, a bazooka and a few grenades. _Child Services would have a field day_ , she thinks, and he smiles in response to her thoughts. William probably knows all the self-deprecating jokes ever told with how self-judgemental adults have been around him.

A tap on the glass of the driver's window startles her. Scully carefully maneuvers her way back to the front.

Diana Fowley stands outside.

"What are you doing here?" Scully barks, surprised as she lowers the window glass. "Where's the rest?"

"They're on their way to the roof. They sent me back to back you up." She responds, calmly… but something is not right. Scully chances a quick look at William. His breathing has quickened; he senses it too.

"I don't need any backup and I don't care what deal Mulder made with you. I can do this on my own," Scully responds to the woman, demurely trying to reach the Beretta that she slipped into the side holder of the van's door. Not that it would make much damage… with the woman being what she is.

"Oh please, Scully- Swallow that pride, will you?" Diana responds, breezily, a tight smile drawn on the woman's lips. But Scully doesn't budge or move. Diana lifts the gun she's been hiding away from Scully's eyesight. "Now, if you could just kill the engine…"

"What are you doing?" She manages to ask, as the barrel of the gun quickly reaches her temple.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Diana responds with a tinge of exasperation in her voice as she reaches in and opens the door to pull the redhead out of the vehicle. "Don't make me give you a play-by-play of what you've got a long time coming."

"Mom!" William shouts, and for the first time Scully can hear that there's fear in her son's voice.

"William, honey- Just stay in the van, okay?" She tries to calm him down, closing the door and pushing down on the locks, though she knows it's pretty useless.

Diana checks the periphery and Scully wonders who could possibly make her be cautious. If they'd reached the magnetite already she might fear that, but something tells her that their plan has gone terribly wrong.

"A flimsy tin layer between us is not going to protect him, Scully," Diana scoffs as she tries to pull her away from the van, but Scully acts on instinct; she doesn't want her son to expose himself to this. But William doesn't stay put, opening the side door and carefully starting to maneuver his way out over the stacked up cases. "You know very well that keeping him at bay won't do. I _know_ he knows exactly what I'm planning for you."

"He doesn't have to see it, though," Scully pleads, and for the first time in a while she feels the impending need to pray. "Isn't this enough?"

"I say when it is enough." Diana grabs her by the hair and briefly trains her gun on William. The boy freezes his movements for a second as they walk past the door opening. "Come on- hands on the car."

Diana pats her down, looking for any guns that she may have, but Scully doesn't have any on her. She mentally kicks herself for being so careless. She wasn't looking in the right direction.

"It's okay, mom." Her son's eyes meet hers; there's some anguish in them but he's trying so valiantly to be brave. He doesn't need to lose another parent figure. He doesn't need to lose his real mother. She can't let this one slip by, not when they're finally so close.

"Keep your hands up," Diana shouts to both of them. William is almost out of the van, Scully considers. If she can manage to distract her, maybe he could escape.

How could she have underestimated the motivations behind this woman? She should have known better. Mulder- they should have been more careful, but she can see how their history would mislead them… and then it hits her. Would Diana Fowley betray Mulder again?

"I thought that after sacrificing yourself for him you wouldn't fall for your lower impulses again," Scully challenges her. "I thought you loved him. You cared. I thought you once wanted him to be happy."

" _Cared_?" She scoffs again, sarcasm and mockery heavy handed and hurtful. "Scully, please…"

"You're not _her_ ," Scully taunts, sure of it, disgust laced in her tone. "You're a replicant, aren't you?"

"What? You can read minds as well now, Dana?" Diana replies, humorously; a sickening laugh mocking her back. Scully is not quite striking a chord, so she tries harder.

"No, but even the Diana Fowley I knew wasn't this vile being you are." The Diana she knew had a weak spot. This one disregards that, blatantly. But somewhere inside the abomination that holds her hostage a wounded pride will be the weak spot. The woman turns her around and slams her against the side of the van.

"People change," she says, hitting her left cheek with the barrel of the gun.

"Stop! No!" the boy shouts protectively and jumps out of the van and towards the woman. Diana turns her gun towards the kid's legs, ready to shoot… and then she does.

"William!" Scully shouts as she jumps toward the woman to divert her aim, but the bullet has rung out already… somehow not hitting him. William stands rigidly, concentration deep on his face, fists clenched on either sides of his body as the van vibrates behind him. The cases rattle and hit each other, violently spilling their contents everywhere. The snow under his feet melts, and both women have to shake the awe from themselves.

A powerful wave expels out of him, pushing both women away from each other. He's protecting himself. He's protecting her.

Diana is the first to react, shooting another round at him. It bounces back, again, this time diverting its path upwards and away. The kid is struggling but Diana is determined, and so is Scully.

"Kid, you're not going to be able to fend them all away…" Diana gets up from the snow-covered ground, but Scully grabs her by the tails of her jacket before she reaches William, throwing her back on the ground, and kicking her head with the heel of her boots. Even with the damage that Scully inflicts on her, she knows it's not much longer before this woman overpowers her, so she runs towards the van again. Another shot rings out and she ducks.

Half of the woman's face is bruised and bloody, and even though it looks like her skull is dented in, she doesn't skip a beat.

William takes a step towards her. Another shot, straight at her son this time and Scully worries that he's starting to look like he won't be able to hold on much longer. She spies the dark oval near the back tire. She needs to reach it and gain themselves some time to run away.

Another shot and the ground starts to shake under them, startling them both. She's never been in presence of this kind of display of William's powers; only small doses that were much more for show than any impending need to protect himself so fiercely. She suspects that some of this event is unknown to him as well, being forced to face conditions he's never fought before.

"Mom! Now!" He shouts, and she dives, grabbing the stray grenade, using the impulse to turn around as fast as she can.

_We're too close_ , she dreads for a microsecond, but William shouts again.

"Now!" His voice is raw as Diana launches herself towards him, shooting round after round.

Scully hopes that he can muster enough strength to withstand what's about to happen. She pulls the safety pin and throws it straight at Diana Fowley's mass. The blinding light follows and then the roar of the explosion as everything turns inevitably dark.


	35. Chapter 35

The dull ring in her ears and a pressing sense of urgency fights vehemently against her need to just stay in the dark. _Sleep for a little bit more_ , a part of her brain says, while the other fights back, coursing chemicals through her bloodstream, prompting and urging her to snap out of it.

Scully remembers a time like this, a moment before today; the burning cold waking her up, dazed and confused, light hurting her eyes, as she struggled in and out of consciousness. The snowflakes in her eye line are so close that she can differentiate their fractal shape, one of top of another, piling up like clouds. _Blink_. The vapor that comes through her lips makes everything foggy around her… dreamlike… beautiful.

And silent.

A loud silence.

A worrying silence.

"William!" She snaps as awareness hits her and she scrambles to get up. Pain immediately shoots back in response; her right arm throbs, she must have broken it when the grenade exploded. She's alive… _But where's her son?_

With her left hand, Scully absentmindedly assesses her face in shock; some numbness, some blood and scrapes. She looks around, taking stock of her surroundings, finding herself behind the van. _The explosion must have pushed me here_ , she rationalizes as she goes around it. There's some debris here and there but nothing too big. The van seems okay, _considering_ … but there're no signs of William… or Diana. There's just a patch of melted snow where she remembers he stood before the ignition.

"William!" She shouts again.

Scully looks around but there's nothing in the immediate vicinity. Inside the van everything is scattered; the cases are spilled, and some of them took heavy damage from the explosion... but there's a distinct area of the cargo area that remains undamaged. Everything in the radius where William stood is whole.

She looks at the watery spot under her feet where he once stood. _Foot prints. Snow-_ , her heart races as she scans the ground for any trace of his steps on the surface of the powdery ground.

Two feet out: nothing.

Four feet: nothing.

Six feet: Dark dragging marks and shreds of fabric - Dark wool, like the coat Diana was wearing. The fact that Diana isn't there either worries her even more.

"William!"

_Please…_ she mentally repeats, over and over, as her heart beats even stronger now, painfully filling her with dread. A million possibilities come crashing down as the fears flood her senses. The woman - this supersoldier - could have taken him. Or worse. Much worse. The tears begin to sting her eyes as her emotions threaten to spill over in her desperation.

_This is not the time._

"William!"

She reaches the curb and walks on to the sidewalk, finds more drag marks without any particular logic. The path is interrupted by at least four to six feet of untouched snow every few yards. Even if anyone were running, the intervals would be smaller. She's hearing the wail of sirens in the distance when she notices the wall bricks of the dilapidated building to her right; there are scratch marks, deep, as if someone tried to hold on fiercely. For each blank space on the surface of the sidewalk there's a higher drag mark on the wall. Silent pleas add to the clutter of scenarios she's got running non-stop through her mind.

Would those sirens be their arranged NYPD presence? As desolated as this part of town is, someone must have heard it and alerted other response teams. She's starting to get lightheaded and suspects that she must also have broken a few ribs; she could have a collapsed lung. She needs to find William, _fast_.

Scully reaches the corner and checks the periphery; a tow truck drives away to the West, to the North, the intersection to this main street leads to a set of cluttered yards that belong to the MTA. Out of commission trains, trucks, and machinery parked in no particular order. South East, a couple of blocks down, the cult complex… The drag marks lead to the yards and she's not quite sure what she thinks is the worst situation.

As she continues to follow the trail, she tries to make sense of how long was she unconscious and what happened while she was out. The marks on the ground become more continuous and firm, a clear line until she comes to the edge of a pit, a grease pit.

"No!" she gasps, as she fights the fear and tries to find a way into the tank, looks for a sign that her son isn't at the bottom of it.

But the tracks die there.

" _William!_ " Scully sobs, collapsing at the edge. Pain takes over and the incommensurable weight of desperation pushes all the air out of her lungs.

Tears stream freely and painfully, leaving tracks down her soot covered and bruised face. Her gloved hands card through her hair, pulling, desperate. She can't believe that this is it. _Not like this, not after all they've been through._

Another sobs rips through her and Scully's face hits the snow again, as the world spins, as her life loses all of its purpose. Her own wails and screams ring out, deafening… dizzying… she failed her son. She couldn't protect him. She has failed Mulder. What is the point of anything now?

Everything that she ever risked in her life shouldn't have led up to this… but it did. It has. And she can't believe it.

Her blurred vision struggles as she spots movement between the shadows of the stacked, steel beams across from her. She doesn't know who or _what_ it could be, but her automatic response is to be on the offensive, the primal response of a wounded animal, of a mother that has been ripped apart.

Diana Fowley has stripped her of everything that ever mattered to her, to Mulder. If she's hiding in the shadows like the slithering snake she once was, like the macabre being she settled to be for eternity… even when she knows it would mean her certain death, Scully's blind rage just allows one thought in her mind.

She moves as fast as her adrenaline-filled limbs allow; it's a long corridor in between these stacked iron beams but a few spaces break the continuous walls every few feet. She looks left and right every time, _where are you?_

Scully trots ahead and there it is, the shadow just out of the periphery to her left. She runs towards it, only to hear a crackling sound, like a bolt of lightning, and the groaning of metal on metal. She looks up, as the arm of a crane moves with a magnet dangling from its end, hovering over her.

Scully runs down the next opening, trying to find a way towards the vehicle, but there's another crackling, more powerful this time, closer, followed by a guttural scream and the violent swing of the magnet towards the source. She instinctively ducks as she continues her advance; two more rows, she partially spots the cabin of the crane in the distance. Her heart pounds as hard as her feet hit the ground, to reveal the clearing where the crane is parked.

A mix of confusion, disbelief and relief flood her as she sees William standing in the middle of the clearing, his eyes focused, his whole body coiled and rigid in exertion.

She gasps. "Oh my god…"

* * *

When they heard the blow close by, Mulder looked back thinking that the rest of the team had come through with their plan, but there weren't any tell tale signs of an explosion in the cult's complex. It had happened near by, though… and it was way too loud to be some mechanical manufacturing sound coming from the scarce industries that still reside around the area. Then, he remembers… The van. They're packing. If the _replicant_ Diana was on her way towards Scully and William, it might've been them.

"That was you, wasn't it? You came here to destroy what you can't." Curtis continues to push him, gun in hand, nervous and deranged. "You may want to kill me, Mulder… but I'm eternal. I gotta give it to you though, sometimes we think alike. Must be what Ally sees in you."

The illusions of grandeur that the man holds have never felt more threatening to Mulder than they do right now, when he can see his empire being hit. This is not the first time that he's dealt with Curtis Weaver, but this _is_ the first time he doesn't have any semblance of a plan to get out of the situation. The man is volatile.

"I think we both learned a long time ago that we have to agree to disagree, Curtis." Mulder retorts, and he's rewarded with a hook to his ribs. Weaver is definitely over the effects of the agent that Ally slipped him.

"Shut up, and take me to him!" The man barks, pushing Mulder forward.

"They're hiding away from the compound. I don't even know where they are." He responds, and he really doesn't know… "Believe me, I don't."

"Believe you-" Weaver scoffs, looking around, aimlessly walking toward the main avenue.

"You know, with that explosion it won't be long before someone calls 911. It might be suspicious if they find you pointing a gun and dragging me up the street," Mulder taunts.

"Shut up!" Another blow. He needs to curb his sarcastic tendencies if he wants to make it out alive. He's actually praying that someone indeed did call 911… or that their cavalry is close.

They walk aimlessly for a few more feet; the snow making them slip and drag towards the path their strike team took coming into the area, towards the path to anyone coming from Manhattan… _Come on, someone, anyone_ , he thinks.

One block North, with the weather bitter and threatening, Curtis really has no plan. He stops.

"Call her," Weaver demands, turning him around and training the gun to his head. "Call them now."

Mulder extracts his phone from his jacket pocket and dials her number once again. Scully hadn't picked up her phone before and as the intermittent tone goes on and on, Mulder dreads that the explosion managed to hurt them. One part of him hopes that she's not picking up because she's busy escaping… but there's only so much hope.

"There's no answer," Mulder informs him, lowering the cell phone from his face and looking at him straight on. He has to be careful; Curtis' eyes dart nervously, telling tales of the mental state he's in. He pats his jacket pocket continuously, bites his lips, all signs of a nervous control disorder. Mulder can only push so much before he wears him thin, before the man snaps and sees no value in keeping him alive… _But maybe that's what he should do._

"This is pointless, Curtis." He needs to protect them; regardless of his desire to complete their plan, William and Scully must survive. "You might as well shoot me now. There's no win in this situation."

Curtis stares at him, mulling away, and Mulder has never envied Ally more than right now, wishing he could have an insight into the man's mind… well, maybe not.

"You know what? Wish granted," Curtis says, calmly, cocking the gun. "I don't need you for this."

Mulder takes a deep breath, the cold air hitting his nostrils and filling him with a coppery smell that he's sure is his mind at play.

"Kneel, now, facing me!" Curtis barks, adopting a defiant stand.

"Contrary to whatever you've heard, really, I don't swing that way," Mulder responds as he kneels. His brain works in overdrive, deflecting, and he's aware of it. _Now is not the time to profile your own psyche_ , he mentally scolds.

"Always a clown." Curtis hits Mulder's cheek with the barrel of the gun, the sting of broken skin burning through. "I want to look at your face as you beg for mercy, to me, at last, as it should have happened long ago. You're not a deserving man. You should have never been his father; I should have been the one that guided him to greatness."

Ironically enough, this is not the first time that Mulder contemplated that: _deserving or not deserving_ whatever he has received in life. He's questioned deserving Scully by his side, the gift of bearing a child when it seemed impossible. He's also wondered why he was on the receiving end of a life where his sister was abducted and tortured, where both Scully and he have been taken to the brink of death and been brought back… Is this a gift or a curse? What made them so freaking special? Why them and not someone else?

"You've never understood his position in this war, and you never will. You're nothing more than a selfish, nearsighted asshole." Curtis adds to the manic list of parting words to Mulder from this planet. Maybe he was too nearsighted at times, _indeed_. He's failed to comprehend the reach of the tendrils of the players of this game, the scope of their madness.

"Weaver. I already know what I am. No need to remind me." Mulder sighs. Curtis pushes the barrel to his forehead; the bruising iron is cold on his skin, vibrating as it reflects the angry yet skittish grip his executioner has on the weapon.

_This is too fast, but a long time coming,_ he thinks as he waits. He didn't see this coming today, though... and perhaps this is why it's happening now. He's familiar with this feeling; the self-deprecating embrace of his own judgment.

He'd voice it on occasion; he'd let Scully hear his fears and his disappointments. He'd bask in the pity party of times past and lost lives and futures that he couldn't even know if he'd enjoy had they happened. But then she'd come to him, angry at times, sweet in others, drawing him back to the present and to what was important, with the force of a slap or the electricity of a caress. And he'd welcome them both. Because it meant that she was alive and so was he… and they were in this hell together.

Weaver starts cackling, a sickening noise playing the score of a joke that must be playing on repeat in his brain and Mulder takes advantage of this, gaining momentum and hitting Curtis' lower abdomen with his head, propelling him backwards and lounging towards him.

He's not ready to leave this hell… not when what he loves the most is out there. Not when they've gotten so far. He's not ready to give up.

The gun goes off when it hits the ground as they struggle for control; the shot hits no one and it slides away from them. Punches are thrown from each side, they roll over the snow, grunting and yelling curses that travel through them. For a few moments Mulder has the upper hand, but Weaver's desperate and resilient determination is overpowering. An angry kick to his ribs and the instant and painful crack of bone leaves Mulder contorting in pain as Curtis reaches for the gun and towers over him as he lays on his back.

"You should have known better," he says, cocking the gun once more. "You should had killed me when you had the chance."

Mulder takes a sharp breath, and if he were a religious man, he would say that that fleeting thought that just crossed his mind was actually a prayer.

"NYPD! Freeze!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OG Comments from OG FNN post:  
> A/N: This is the time where I tell you that I've actually finished writing this fic; some revisions and red penning needs to be done, but its done. It has a total of 42 chapters... and I find the number... fitting. If you're an x-phile, you'll understand. I aim to post 2 chapters a week from now on... so the end is near.
> 
> I'm full of 1013 references today.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your kind reviews, to the people that have discovered this story and those that are just beginning to read it; it's very humbling to know the appreciation you have for this fic and my work. Many of your reviews have actually hit the nail in the head and it thrills me.
> 
> If I were to go back in time and dedicate this fanfic to anyone, it would be to Ky... because she's the most amazing cheerleader and has put up with this story for two long years, ever since I said, while distracting myself from the fact that at the time I was about to be homeless, that it would be really cool to write a story where Mulder and Scully would party it up with Castle and Beckett.
> 
> Maybe I'll print it sometime, and gift it to my unicorn. Mwah.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on The Essence of Existence...
> 
> He's not ready to leave this hell… not when what he loves the most is out there. Not when they've gotten so far. He's not ready to give up.
> 
> The gun goes off when it hits the ground as they struggle for control; the shot hits no one and it slides away from them. Punches are thrown from each side, they roll over the snow, grunting and yelling curses that travel through them. For a few moments Mulder has the upper hand, but Weaver's desperate and resilient determination is overpowering. An angry kick to his ribs and the instant and painful crack of bone leaves Mulder contorting in pain as Curtis reaches for the gun and towers over him as he lays on his back.
> 
> "You should have known better," he says, cocking the gun once more. "You should had killed me when you had the chance."
> 
> Mulder takes a sharp breath, and if he were a religious man, he would say that that fleeting thought that just crossed his mind was actually a prayer.
> 
> "NYPD! Freeze!"

The shout startles them as Mulder feels a bolt of relief flood his senses. Rushed boots crush the snow, singing a marvelous tune when the uniformed officers approach them, cautious but authoritative.

"Drop the gun, drop it! Now!" Mulder chances a look toward the commanding voice, lifting his head just an inch from the ground, making sure it's the right side of the law approaching. He takes a cautiously optimistic breath. Officer Hastings aims at Curtis' back; fierce determination in her eyes. Behind her, another two officers follow suit.

"I could still kill you, you know?" Curtis grits his teeth, cursing under his breath. For a moment Mulder fears that the situation isn't threatening enough to stop Weaver's intentions. "Though, now that I think about it, as long as you're alive, Scully will be stupid enough to look for you… with him _. I need him_. You're going to lead me to him, eventually."

"Drop it!" This time it's the angry tenor of the male officer that orders Curtis to stop. He presses his lips into a thin forced smile, abandoning his threatening stance, and turning to face the trio of NYPD officers that point their guns at him. He lifts both hands in surrender, releasing a manic laugh and taking a step towards them. It's a flurry of limbs and commanding shouts that take over as the male officer tackles Curtis to the ground and cuffs him.

He can breathe now.

"Are you alright?" Hastings offers him a hand to get him up from the snow as she briefly regards him with a respectful and concerned nod.

"Yeah," Mulder confirms, stoic, as he takes back his gun and checks the periphery for any other units coming. No sirens yet. He zeroes in on LT's tags. "Officer Tolliver, if you could read Mr. Weaver his rights... I'll give you this collar for free."

LT lifts an eyebrow in response to Mulder's nonchalant instruction.

"He's the head of the cult that kidnapped Mr. Castle and William Van de Kamp," Mulder continues, dusting the snow off of his jacket.

"Go on, Mulder. This isn't the last time we're going to see each other," Curtis mutters, daring as LT starts reciting the Miranda warning to him and pulling him up off the ground. He doesn't stay still while the officer pats him down. "Get your hands off me!"

"I said, _you have the right to remain silent…_ I suggest you shut it. You were caught assaulting a federal officer; you're gonna be down for a while," LT recommends, but Curtis is beyond following any order; his face fills with a sickening smile while he fixes his eyes on Mulder.

"I'm being set up!" He says, laughing. He's lost it. "Next time, Mulder… next time, I'll make sure it's the last one."

Mulder can only hope that the mention of his real identity goes over the officer's heads. He doesn't want to risk their obedience over a slip up like that. He crosses a brief look with Weaver and curses the day that he entered their lives. He can feel his fists burn with rage and impotence; his cheeks tremble as the exertion of controlling an outburst takes over. In his quiet and demurely controlled stance, he knows that letting his feelings show would only make things worse; he'd out himself, showing emotions that the simple _FBI Agent Miller_ would never have.

So he'll curb his dog, for now.

"Ok, then." LT continues, dragging him toward the van that's parked a few feet behind. "We'll continue with this: _anything you say or do, can and will be used against you in a court of law.._."

Officer Tolliver isn't kind, or careful, and Mulder appreciates the harsh handling. Pulling out his phone, Mulder dials Scully's number once more but it goes straight to voicemail. The system is no longer putting the call through.

"Agent Miller, a moment?" Hastings approaches Mulder, discreetly pulling him aside and lowering her voice. "We have the… _stuff_ with us. The rest of the team is on its way, they won't be long…"

Mulder nods as he considers her update. There's some welcomed relief because part of the plan is actually going to schedule, but he needs to locate _them_. The maps are pivotal to their mission, to what William has been channeling in the last months, and even years. Those will be their guides to a place where he hopes to find a safe destination, closure to questions unanswered, and most likely, to gain more questions as well. He's not naïve. He knows that this will never be over; he'll always want to dig deeper.

"Did you receive any call from dispatch about a nearby explosion?" His voice is but above a whisper, careful of what Curtis might overhear despite the vile rant he keeps screaming to the skies. Angry recitations of the bible and prophecies abound.

"Just now? Wasn't that _us_?" Hastings asks, understandably. He would have assumed the same. "We responded. Didn't want to chance outsiders coming to this _party_ …"

"Good thinking, Hastings." Mulder nods his approval. "Do you have the address where the explosion was reported?"

Hastings nods while she pulls up the notepad app on her iPhone. Curtis Weaver continues to resist arrest and spew venom at them, drawing the attention of the scarce few onlookers who drive by. He can shout all he wants. By now they've drawn enough attention to themselves - the strike team on the roof of the complex is making enough noise as it is, and he's sure that the few employees left in the two or three warehouses around have figured out that those pops are not firecrackers. _Fuck caution_. His only worry is making sure that he's not too late to find his wife and son; he won't be able to survive if he learns that those who've become his life force… are in a situation that he cannot reverse.

* * *

Fowley's mangled body ascends and hits noisily against the powered magnet above. Unnatural sounds come out of the woman, like the growls of a diabolic beast as she tries to free herself. A demon, an alien... indeed – this is the feeling that has haunted him in his dreams before they set off on their mission. Before Mulder and Scully came to him. Before he met his true parents. _Fear_ is not quite the name he'd put on it, but a mixture of nervousness and exhilaration that settles in his bones. He must protect them.

William's muscles quiver like they never have. He imagines that this is how it must feel to have electricity coursing through your veins instead of blood. He hurts all over, but he's filled with an overdrive that's surprised him since he left his mother in the aftermath of the blast. Everything is a blur in his confusion. He feels and knows that this will end soon; he fears he will disappoint. He fears he might not be strong enough.

He has to protect her. He has to protect _them._ William strains to block those thoughts from his head; it has always done him better to escape the world for a while, to center his strength in the threat before him, to enter the dark tunnel he's learned to navigate.

These forces are not kind or benevolent; they used to come and take over his senses, but he's learned to negotiate a controlling grip over them. He's learned to shape them and match his intentions. He can almost understand how to tame the unknown, letting it channel out of him the things he still can't comprehend.

Hardly anyone understands. His journey was very lonely until they finally came.

He focuses on the crane and with another groan the telescopic arm swings fast, toward the grease pit. William knows that the crane above him won't bear his handling for too long. It's falling apart; it's belts and cables moan and emit high-pitched sounds he's never heard before. He spots his mother as she moves towards him but he can't let her continue, it's too dangerous, for her... for his resolve.

"Don't move!" He barks through gritted teeth summoning even more strength. A howl grows, and it's daunting, like nothing he's seen before as the wind snaps at the loose legs of his pants, burning his face with the frigid touch of ice. If he can just hold on for just a few more seconds...

The crane complains as the arm stops forcefully over the pit, shaking, persevering a few moments before the cables snap, like gigantic leather whips, dropping the magnet and taking Diana to the depths of the viscous pool. He's done it… but the relief is short lived. The force he inflicted on the machine makes it snap back, collapsing and toppling as his mother dives toward him, as everything seems to falter around him, and he falls spent to the ground.

Debris and contorted metal falls over them. Scully braces for impact, protecting him – dust, snow and the deafening sounds of the machine coming down. She holds on tight to his aching body, a prayer the last thing he hears her mutter, willing whatever force is out there to give her another chance… Asking for a miracle, in a promise sealed with her tears.

Dread settles in Mulder's stomach at the loud sound. This isn't part of the plan.

"What's going on?" Hastings asks. The painfully loud collapse of metal and the wail of a structure bending forcefully startle them all. She follows Velazquez's cautious path West on Main.

"I think it came from the MTA yards," Velazquez suggests, pointing towards the area about three blocks down. "Was that part of the operation?"

Hastings turns to check on Mulder; he shakes his head. _This is spinning out of control_ , he thinks as he catches up to her.

"We need to get there," Mulder looks at Velazquez then. " _You_ stay with Weaver. Wait for the other units."

"What's going on? We were told we'd have to support, but-" Hastings asks, stopping him and he takes a brief breath. He needs to communicate with this team. They won't follow blindly.

"There's two members of our team that might be in danger, off-site." He shorthands the explanation. _The most important members of this team._

Velazquez shares a look briefly with Hastings that nods her approval to the woman and she rushes her way back towards the van. LT has a heckling Weaver pinned to the front of it. Mulder's mind strains to figure out the moving pieces of this mess so that he can still live up to his promise to Beckett. He needs to protect her team too.

"Tolliver…" Mulder prompts, signaling LT to come to them while checking the app on Hasting's phone. The man trades posts with Velazquez. "Head over to the address where the first explosion was reported; its just two blocks out. Hastings, you come with me."

Mulder starts his way out on foot with Hastings trailing behind.

"Wait, what about-?" LT stops them, eyeing the loaded NYPD van. "They're going to question that we didn't put the suspect _inside_ the vehicle- and we can't… you know, mix goods."

The maps and the evidence are too important; compromising it would make their exit even messier. They can't let it anywhere near Curtis or anyone from the task force coming to the area.

"I wouldn't leave it behind…" Hastings worries, and they're right.

_Fuck this all._ Fuck the moment that they let them attack the Van de Kamps at the diner, _fuck_ the moment that they let the NYPD take the maps, _fuck_ unfairness. Yes, _fuck that one the most._

"I'm going to get you, Mulder!" Weaver continues in his bloodthirsty rant but Mulder all but ignores him.

"Hastings, hop in." He orders as he walks his way back to the van and stops to address Velazquez. "Officer- This is what happened: when you responded to the site of the explosion, Officer Hastings and you canvassed the area, while Officer Tolliver stayed behind. You spotted me and came to my aid. Hastings and I went to check out that suspicious noise."

Velazquez nods in confirmation and pulls Weaver away from the van.

"What, Mulder? Did you sell your soul to the hyenas? Are you part of the syndicate now?" he taunts, and Mulder comes closer to his face as Curtis furiously stands his ground, defiant and irate. "You know I'm always going to have the last word…"

Mulder sighs, annoyed by the deviant rants the man throws his way. He's had it.

" _As for the injuries on the detainee, as painful as they look_ …" Mulder says as he hits Curtis on the side of the head with the butt of his gun, making him fall to his knees unconscious, startling the officers. "Just say it happened in the middle of the struggle. Put it on me if you want."

He walks to the door and opens it while Hastings catches up and LT starts his trot to their van, leading towards the site of the first explosion.

"Radio if you need help," Mulder throws Velazquez' way as he climbs in.

* * *

Castle and Ally climb up the stairwell just off the West entrance, already on edge by the telltale signs of the onslaught. The floor of the ground level is a mess of slush, debris, and the ominous crimson tint of blood. A few bodies lean against the walls; some of them fatally wounded from the explosion must have passed away instantly… some others, wounded, show gory shots to the head. Someone spared them from their suffering, he rationalizes. He has to. Reaching the second level of the structure, they stop in their tracks when they spot Diana and another supersoldier standing just inside the hallway.

" _Shit,_ " Ally cusses under her breath. "You have to be kidding me. Did they mass produce the Knowle Rohrer model?"

"What?" Castle whispers too. Ally motions Castle to keep quiet.

"The guy we just killed downstairs…" and then she points toward the wall of a guy advancing down the hall. The implications of this throw his head for a spin.

"Is it the same…?"

"No…" She responds. _So there are many of them_ , he thinks, and she nods. He wishes he could read thoughts; it would make not being heard while they eavesdrop on ruthless assassins way easier.

Castle can't really see the man's face from this angle; a camouflaged baseball hat obscures it as he speaks to Diana. He dons a combat uniform, just like the three men beside him – they're fit, strong, and in normal conditions, Castle knows they would be lethal. As supersoldiers, he actually believes it's almost overkill. A couple of men dressed as civilians walk ahead, past the fire doors that communicate to the central part of the cluster of buildings that make up the complex. A woman with long dark hair and the posture of a warrior follows along beside Rohrer, checking on the rooms and windows of the hallway. They're sealed shut. The rooms are empty, but they're alert.

"Do you know where they're headed?" Castle hears him ask Fowley. The man has his back to him, walking deeper into the space.

These _beings_ are surely able and trained to detect any disruption around them; thankfully, the noise of the fire exchange happening above them drowns out any noise they could make. Castle thinks back to the times he's scurried into buildings with Beckett, backing her up, listening in for the best moment to strike… somehow he doesn't feel so brave right now. It's not the same. He doesn't think that a well-placed kiss and a burst of rage-infused punches will save their ass any time soon. And he thought they'd seen terrible; right now he's actually wishing he were fighting Lockwood… At least the man bled blood, and he is one hundred percent sure he is dead.

"They rushed down this hall past the fire doors and into the central atrium. They're trying to get to Detective Beckett and Reyes," Diana explains, and the group nods, examining the path ahead. "I said I'd stay behind to divert you from following… Great job back there; they're so gullible."

Alarms go off in his head over the calculated way that this woman carries the conversation. For a moment, she reminds him of Sophia Turner… the _evil_ version of Sophia Turner.

"We need to stop them!" Castle whispers to Ally. His blood boils with anger at this betrayal. This woman really is the devil that Scully warned them about. But the girl beside him wags her head _No_.

" _Something_ is off," Ally tilts towards the group as much as she can without blowing their cover, strain showing on her features, and Castle wonders if her faculties ever cause her pain other than the emotional scars she carries around.

"I'll tell you what's off," he continues to whisper, much closer now, unable to contain himself. "They're betraying us. _She's_ betraying us. We need to warn Beckett and Reyes."

The response is a slap to his cheek that actually stuns him, leaves him speechless. If that was her intention, well, she got it. The blow came out of nowhere.

" _Shhh_ ," she hisses, putting a finger to her lips. Her features transform showing something like relief. She points then to the staircase above them. "Skinner… he's here. Close."

"Right… Skinner." He remembers hearing this name, but can't quite keep track of all the things and people he's had to memorize in the last few hours. Too much information has never hurt his brain, but this time around he might have met his limits.

"They're conning these poachers," Ally explains, adjusting her crouching position, always leery and checking the perimeter as the group goes further in. It continues to be daunting how her face reacts to the information that she catches and steals from people's minds, especially when it's his own. "We need to carry out the plan as it was. They can't hold the supersoldiers back on their own."

"But-" Castle starts, but before he has a grip on her, Ally has jumped across the landing and started climbing up the stairs. "Wait. Stop! Ally-" he hisses, but she won't have it, and urges him to follow.

Castle takes a deep breath and checks on the group standing in the hallway to his right. He moves slowly and hides behind one of the doors that allow access to the area. The civilian men and the uniformed supersoldiers are far enough into the next building. Diana speaks to Rohrer in hushed tones he can't hear over the shouts from upstairs. That advantage is now playing against him. Diana ushers him further down the hall. He has to make a choice. If he gets seen, most likely he'd ruin the operation.

_Fuck. Here goes nothing_ , he thinks. He rushes across the gap, keeping his eyes trained on the group and holding the magnetite bags close to his body, careful not to spill any of the material. For the briefest moment he thinks that Diana has made him… but nothing happens. Castle releases the breath he'd been holding; relief comes in great gulps of air that almost hurt his chest as tiredness starts to set into his muscles.

A few steps up, he finds the group holding court. Esposito stands alert; his eyes speak of his relief at the sight of him. A bald man briefly hugs Ally _\- he must be Skinner -_ Castle figures as he sees the exchange.

"Where's John? And Mulder?" Ally asks rushed, but the men take a pregnant pause to respond to her.

"Mulder is off site-" Skinner begins, and the girl's eyes zero in on him. She's reading him. Castle knows it, Skinner knows it, and she doesn't look like she likes what she's seeing.

"Scully? William?" she utters, swallowing. Castle isn't sure that he even wants to know what's going on.

"We're waiting to hear confirmation," Skinner says. _Confirmation of?_ Castle dreads that this whole plan has gone to hell.

"John is at the other end – at the center building. We're going to bottle them in," Esposito continues to explain. "This place will hold up like you guys planned - no windows to escape from, not too many flight routes either - and White will condemn the fire doors."

"We had to start without you- the supersoldiers trapped Monica and Beckett in the East wing…" Skinner tries to explain, almost apologetic for their actions, and Castle instantly flares at the mention of Beckett's situation.

"But Beckett—Is she ok?" He asks. Esposito nods the confirmation his way.

"They've got it, bro." But he can't quite read certainty in his friend's features.

"We'll have to make up for our snafus then," Ally says in a tone that reads like she's angry with herself. That's one way to put it: _a snafu_. She cracks her neck, allowing herself a few seconds, perhaps to go through the motions of the situation at hand. Castle admires her capacity to compartmentalize and push through despite the simultaneous situations they've been in. He has to admit that terror is starting to seep in. The thought that Beckett could face any of the men downstairs, after having met one of them himself… he doesn't want to imagine. He wouldn't be alive if it weren't for that magnetite, and Ally.

"Can we get a hold of John?" She asks.

"We need to wait," Esposito explains, pulling the blueprint of the building up on his phone. "They're luring the supersoldiers away from the roof accesses and into the central atrium. My guys have the situation upstairs …about to be controlled."

Castle takes a look at the drawings; there's a very solid chance that they could get stuck and exposed to these dangerous entities. It's just two men against seven… and one of them is set on destroying whoever is not their kind. What if Beckett and Reyes take this route? What if they get caught in this weak scheme?

Ally turns to him. His worry frequency must be pretty loud judging by the look she throws at him. _Great, Castle. You've managed to spook her too._

"Skinner - it's you and me," Ally declares, nodding to Skinner and signaling the magnetite they've been carrying. "Grab Castle's bags."

"What are you doing?" Castle asks, handing out the magnetite to the bald man.

"We're going to continue with the plan," she informs him, and then focusing her attention on Javier, "You need to assure me that we can get John out of that funnel."

"Ally. You know what I'm worrying about," Castle says, cutting the crap and addressing the elephant in the room, the fact that she's read his thoughts, his worries, and won't address them. _What does she fear?_ "It's not just his life in danger in there. The girls, they could have taken that route too."

"Trust me, we'll be fine," Ally dismisses, and Castle wonders what exactly makes her so sure that they shouldn't even worry. She zeroes in on Javier. "Make sure that whoever is on our team – John and your boys - makes it out of the building, that they know we're moments away. Are we clear?"

Esposito nods at Skinner and her, respectfully. Ally's train of thought is not quite laid out for Castle; his heart rate starts to soar as he tries to consciously make do without it.

"Ally let's just wait- Just a few moments until we can confirm that Beckett and Monica are out," Castle pleads with her again as she adjusts her grip on the bags and her own gun. She shuffles and picks at her straps, securing, adjusting them. She's stalling an explanation. He knows that look, not quite meeting his eyes; he's used to seeing it on Kate when she deflects, when she doesn't want to share… when Kate would freeze him out because she feared the possibilities. Maybe that's it. There's a limit to the amount of worry this girl can carry within.

"I'm getting this train back on track," Ally finally says, stubborn, lifting her gaze to him and releasing a breath that he refuses to see as a defeated one. But it feels that way. Frustration settles in on him, at her lack of understanding for their fears.

"Hey. Just in case," Ally extends her hand to him. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

No, he won't allow it, _not like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OG comments from OG post on FFN:  
> A/N:
> 
> If I can bribe our faithful Ky into Betaing more this week, you'd have the end of this fic a lot faster in your 'puters. LOL
> 
> Realistically, we have a lot of writing to do for other virtual and real life matters! Thank you SO MUCH for your enthusiastic reviews, they are really something I look forward to, and like I said, keep me in check. If you missed it, you can see the map for the area of the complex in my instagram, which you can find using my handle AviQuijada. You can also see pictures there of copious amounts of coffee, food and babies.
> 
> To my Unicorn as always, and to all the unicorns in my life that are just amazingly kickass.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on The Essence of Existence...
> 
> "Ally let's just wait- Just a few moments until we can confirm that Beckett and Monica are out," Castle pleads with her again as she adjusts her grip on the bags and her own gun. She shuffles and picks at her straps, securing, adjusting them. She's stalling an explanation. He knows that look, not quite meeting his eyes; he's used to seeing it on Kate when she deflects, when she doesn't want to share… when Kate would freeze him out because she feared the possibilities. Maybe that's it. There's a limit to the amount of worry this girl can carry within.
> 
> "I'm getting this train back on track," Ally finally says, stubborn, lifting her gaze to him and releasing a breath that he refuses to see as a defeated one. But it feels that way. Frustration settles in on him, at her lack of understanding for their fears.
> 
> "Hey. Just in case," Ally extends her hand to him. "It was a pleasure meeting you."
> 
> No, he won't allow it, not like this.

He shakes his head, meeting her eyes, meeting Esposito's. No, she doesn't get to say that. Castle turns to Skinner, who fidgets on his feet, briefly meeting his eyes as well, but hiding away behind menial preparations. Everything spins; he's not ready for this rush.

"You don't get to do that—Don't you say _good bye_ ," Castle tells her, swallowing the lump that has quickly formed in his throat, a response to the imagery that has started a dreadful dance in his head. He can't let her go if there's a chance that a scene could be written where she ends up dead. It's such a stupid narrative cliché, playing at the strings of the predictability and relishing in the easy dread. "Not like this."

If he lets her say _goodbye_ now, then the writer of this horrific story is not forced to bring it back full circle. He can't let her go on principle. For the sake of the story.

"It is what it is," Ally says, resolute, taking back her unshaken hand and hiking a magnetite-filled bag over her shoulder, nodding to Skinner to start his way towards the roof. Castle doesn't let her go too far before he grabs her by the arm and pulls her into a hug that surprises them both, squeezing until he feels her hug him back, allowing herself the brief connection, even though it's more painful than relieving.

"Don't worry, _she's_ on her way," she says as she untangles herself from his grip, not meeting Castle's eyes. _So she's sure that Beckett will be out, but not so sure about herself?_ He fears, he dreads, he's terrified that she's seeing something he cannot see. That she's seeing a path unfold before her that he cannot stop. The brief time that they've shared, the little that she's allowed him to know about her, has created an affinity that tears him deep with the knowledge that life has been so unfair to her.

He fights every instinct that screams for her protection. _She's not your daughter_ ; it's a mental quarrel he's fought throughout the day. He's confused by the nature of this whole situation. It has taken a toll on him; everything seems raw. He needs Beckett by his side to balance him out.

She doesn't turn around to throw him a last glance, so he feeds on a sobering breath as Esposito takes a call from Ryan. Patrol cars are minutes away, Hastings' advance is already in the area and everything is set to go and under control. It sounds easy enough, almost as if they are in control.

Somehow, it just doesn't feel that way.

Castle bites the bullet and surveys the scene downstairs; the supersoldiers are nowhere to be seen. If Monica and Kate are in there, without the magnetite, they're as good as dead. Esposito sidles up next to him, bumping shoulders; pulling him back from the somber place he's drawn himself into.

"Are you packing?" he asks, hanging up. Castle nods, confirming absentmindedly. Javier nods back. "Good. Welcome back, man."

Javier dials again, warning the team on the other end of the line with the details of the plan, fine-tuning.

Maybe Castle is just not ready to assimilate the reality of what their actions meant, he ponders. He could question everything. _But it is what it is._

* * *

The women bridge the gaps between the uneven levels of the roofs of the buildings. It's clear that everyone abandoned the makeshift posts they held to center their attention on the assault team that is currently decimating the cult's armed members.

As they walk on the flattest side of the roof over the center of the building, they spot the two forces battling at the West corner. The cult's numbers weren't big; the rogue team had effectively plowed through their defenses. The problem is the ones that were still resisting in strategic corners, not allowing for a full neutralization.

From her viewpoint, Monica figures that well-placed bullets will make enough damage to help the situation, but they don't have enough ammo to be wasteful. The surprise factor should work in their favor. She's learned these strategies from John: _Look for the advantage that only_ you _have in this fight_ … and hang on for the ride.

"I'll take the ones on the left," Monica announces after she considers the probabilities.

"Just like that? Are we just... going to kill everyone? Not even give them the chance to surrender?" Beckett questions her, the hushed outrage stalling Monica's momentum. The woman stops and studies her counterpart. Kate Beckett is an NYPD detective, it's not like shooting someone should be something new to her; the problem is that she's not quite grasping the nature of the situation at hand. She'd feared this.

"It's either them or us," Monica responds over the stray shouts and the noise of bullet impacts that fill the air, trying to connect with the hesitant woman before her.

"Shouldn't we have something to show for this raid?" Beckett counters. And if the situation and their plans were different, perhaps that would be a good idea. But Reyes doesn't trust any of these people.

"Mulder walked you through this." Usually she'd have patience to connect, but there's none left when she sees the group before them.

Kate bites her lip, full of doubt and remorse. She's going to get them both killed if they're made.

"Do you want any of them going after you?" Monica questions, drawing Kate's attention back to the scenario before them. She knows these people; she knows them very well. "Do you really think that they're beyond shooting you? Do you think they'd show the same leniency?"

The men holding up the fort are surely determined. They're wearing vests and she knows what's underneath them. If any of them became threatened enough, if they saw no other exit or hope for their mission, they could blow them all to pieces before they ever got to lay out their plan.

_Doesn't she want to get to the other side? Back to Castle? Back to her old conspiracy-free life?_ But then Monica remembers what it's like to not be the jaded people they've become.

The frigid wind whips her hair as she takes a deep breath.

"Look, I get it. This is not your life, this is not your war… and luckily, you still have scruples. I know you function on a different level… I was you, _once_." Monica tries again but the woman before her is stubborn and careful. She could swear she was facing a younger Scully.

"Have you ever considered that these are innocents too?" Beckett counters, but Monica shakes her head. She's been down this road.

"But, it's just not like that." Kate meets eyes with her this time. The woman's lips are stretched into a thin line that doesn't let her read her emotions too much. "I assure you that not one of the people you kill tonight would have been redeemable. They're too far-gone. I talked to your writer; you care for justice… _this_ is justice. For everyone, even them."

And it's the truth. Even if they were to spare their lives, the repercussions would be too great. For one, if they testified that they didn't kidnap William, the delicate framework that held their story together would fall. Fingers would be pointed at them; the police and social services would hunt for them… they'd go to jail, and Beckett's career at the NYPD would be over.

The truth of the matter is that they orchestrated this operation as the last resort to bring justice and do what no one in the US government had the guts to do. No one would see the unfair and vicious ways in which these people and their leaders had victimized them… the threat behind their purposes. So yeah, if they have to kill a few people that believe in this deranged system, deep enough to risk their lives for it so that they could dream of living another day, well, then so be it.

If they let _them_ live, this sacrifice would be pointless.

"What if they shoot at us? I mean, our own team; they don't know we're coming." Kate surprises her with the question when she was almost ready to count their loses. She sees a crack in the armor and Monica goes for it.

"Not if we're shooting at the same target," Monica proposes. Beckett nods.

Kate takes a few precious seconds, before she cocks her gun. "It's just hard for me to be the judge and executioner..." She coaxes Monica with a nod to continue the path ahead of them. "I'll cover you."

* * *

When they peek out of the stairwell, their troop is focused on the men ahead. Skinner keeps reminding himself of how simple his life was last night; Maggie by his side, a few jobs lined up at an office somewhere… and yet, here he is, about to go into a gun battle. He sets the magnetite-filled bags on the ground, now a sloppy mess of melted snow and blood. The bodies lay around as they fell. There are no wounded, just fatalities. These men are lethal.

"Are you alright?" Skinner asks Ally while she sets her own bags right next to his.

"You know I don't do _concern_ , bald guy." Ally responds dismissive, serving him with a light pat on his shoulder and walking towards the action.

"Sure," Skinner mutters, as they approach their team carefully, guns drawn and siding up next to Flanagan, the leader of the strike. "How are we doing?"

"There's still eight left," the man responds with a thick Irish accent between puffs of steam coming out of his mouth. It's still bitterly cold outside and as the time goes by, darker. He's worried about time, but he knows it will be over before they know it. "They have a couple of good shots to the right, they shot Blondie and Carmichael in their shooting hands. Coincidence or not, the lads are getting better."

These men remind him of his platoon in Vietnam. Ruthless, never leaving enough room for hesitation; they only had one objective in mind… and that doesn't mean it was always the _righ_ t objective. This is the troubling back and forth his mind sometimes subject him to; the loud questions he has to gag to keep functioning for what's needed in the present.

A couple of shots graze the top of a chimney that hadn't seen any action, the projectile coming from an unexpected angle. His reflexes jump in alert.

"Shit." Skinner ducks, a reflex, followed by Ally and Flanagan. "Are there any more of them hiding out?"

They cannot afford to succumb to the cult's forces. There's too much on the line for everyone; they're betting their skins and the lives of not only the people with them right now, but those of the ones coming into this operation, not quite knowing what they're about to encounter.

Another group blindsiding them, underestimating the threat built by Curtis Weaver, could finish them for good this time.

Another shot rings out. This time it lands away from them.

Flanagan and a couple more of his guys respond to the unexpected direction of this attack, scanning the periphery. Skinner aims towards his right but he can't spot any shooter. They're good; their vantage point could be their demise.

"No. No, wait." Ally urges, placing her hand on top of his gun's barrel. "It's them."

_Who?_ Skinner takes aim again, anticipating the direction that any other shot might come from.

Flanagan lets a cautionary shot fly past their current attack front. A couple of screams wail from the men before them and even the members of the cult are thrown by the sudden interference.

"I said _stop shooting_!" Ally screams at Flanagan. Skinner is sure that the man must be surprised by the authority this girl carries through her voice. He focuses his attention back to the scene.

The NYPD convoy isn't here yet; this is not their team… _What's going on?_

"There goes one," Skinner narrates when he sees the body of one of the cult members drop. The shot that takes him down came from behind.

Their backup is here. It has to be them. That's what she saw.

"Watch out! Fatso over there is taking off!" Carmichael shoots, but he falls short. One of the most skilled cult shooters reacts to the new direction of the attack and starts to flee towards the Southwest. Skinner aims; the man slips and slides. He's fast on his feet considering his volume.

"Got him," Skinner says, seeing the man fall forward.

"No, you didn't-" Ally laments, comically, when she sees the man get back up, wounded but still on his escape route. But a shot comes, precise, piercing the center of his chest. He's done.

"Help the other flank," she prompts him as Skinner sees Reyes and Beckett emerge from behind the metallic coverings of the A/C units.

The men next to him make use of the distraction they've been given and make a run for it, approaching the group that had held court. _This will be over fast,_ Skinner thinks as he sees the bodies falling.

"Drop 'em! Drop 'em, now!" Beckett shouts at a couple of teen girls holding automatic weapons. They had been hiding behind the older men that now lay on the floor with blood seeping out of their necks and heads. They're terrified. The guns fall to the floor in a dull clutter and Blondie rushes to tackle them as they beg for mercy.

"About time!" Ally complains, walking towards Monica, in mock annoyance.

"We got busy back there, _flying_." Reyes explains, inching towards the edge of the roof, across from the girl.

"Excuses." Ally shakes her head as she assesses the scene.

"Help us over, will ya?" Reyes extends a hand and Ally and Skinner reach out, pulling both women on top of the West building. A flurry of activity engulfs them as they take over the spaces that had been guarded by the cult resistance.

"Take the vests from the bodies," Flanagan orders. Charges of C4 explosives and TNT bars line up the garments, but they're not independently controlled. They're set up for remote detonation. "Careful! Unplug them. Find the central detonator. Find me that trigger."

"What do you want to do with these ones?" Carmichael asks as he drags the teen girls who stand trembling in fear, hands tied to their backs with disposable cuffs.

"Take them downstairs," Flanagan orders, and the man is everything but delicate in the way that he pushes them ahead of him, aiming his gun directly at their heads.

The men carry the magnetite bags and wrap them with the vests, reattaching the wiring and laying the cables against a new trigger.

"This is not going to be enough for the amount of supersoldiers we saw," Reyes comments, assessing the setup.

"I know it won't, but it's going to have to be up to us to finish the job. Your cavalry is coming soon, right?" Ally throws a side-glance at Beckett. The woman looks overwhelmed if Skinner is to judge. He'd be dazed as well, if he hadn't lost that ability sometime around 2008.

"Yes, they have to be here any minute now," Beckett confirms. "But what do you mean this _won't be enough_?"

"If we had more of this stuff, when we blow up the roof, the supersoldiers underneath us would just… melt." Ally elaborates as she walks over, checking on the trigger's tie-ups. "This amount will just weaken them. Enough to shoot them and neutralize them."

" _Just neutralize them_ …" Beckett observes. She's shell shocked, alright. Skinner can see it on the detective's face.

"With what they'll be showered with, they'll pop like balloons _once_ a bullet hits them. We'll have to help it out a little bit." Ally makes a motion with her hands, mimicking popping a balloon. Beckett seems mesmerized by the gory and somewhat detached explanation. Skinner's seen it before, and it's a sight he's never forgotten. "They're going to know something is up now that this little battle is over. We have to blast them, _fast_."

"What about the rest of our team?" Beckett asks. He has to admit he'll also breathe easier if Esposito lives up to his word... but then, is it really in his hands?

"I left one of your guys coordinating. We'll make it out in time; he promised, so he better deliver." Ally levels with her. Skinner sees a brief moment of hesitation cross her features and he wonders if Ally is just blocking her own fears. _What if John doesn't make it out_? What if _they_ don't make it out?

"Charges are set," Flanagan informs. "The main control wasn't among any of them. All the vests were deactivated and reassigned, so we should be alright. They're all routed to the new trigger. The delay system is set."

"How do we know that those are the only vests?" Beckett asks, and it is a valid question. Reyes and Ally cross looks. Worried looks.

"We better rush so we don't have to find out," Reyes urges, collected, but worried still.

"That's the NYPD, just in time," Skinner notes as he hears the sirens approach and the sound of the battalion nearing the building.

"Quick, pick up and down." Flanagan orders his men out as he picks up the trigger box and preps to leave the roof as well. "So… Who's doing the honors?

"I've been waiting for this for a long time," Ally says as she takes it from him, meeting eyes with Reyes who takes a deep breath. Skinner can only imagine the enormous significance of this moment for the girl. To finally blast away some the physical embodiment of a group that made her life a living hell and brought her to her knees in pain.

"Everyone, down the stairwell!" Flanagan orders, and they all follow. "Give us three minutes to clear out. The roll should have enough slack to get you to safety and activate."

Ally nods her confirmation while Beckett takes one last look around with Skinner. There are bodies everywhere. The blood smears create a horrific abstract painting that he's sure he's not going to forget for some time. Maybe he should listen to his wife more; maybe he really should retire and humor her wishes… if he actually comes back to a wife after this. In reality, he's doing this for her as well, to give her the gift of having certainty that her daughter gets to have family again. That justice has been served for her… That criminals have been punished for their cruelties.

He starts his way towards the stairwell. The body of a boy not much older than fifteen slumps against discarded buckets of tar; his eyes are still open, staring lifelessly in what must have been the direction of the person that shot him.

He kneels and lowers his eyelids. He can't just walk away.

_Who is the real criminal here?_

* * *

One, two, three rows, and they all end in a roadblock. They explore the maze of concrete and steel beams, fast, trying to find a way to the site of the wreckage. Mulder tries to ignore his heart, pounding rampant, the uncertainty of what's happened presenting him with a myriad of scenarios that don't necessarily fare for the best.

"There's smoke down this row!" Hastings shouts, and he stops in his tracks to sprint in her direction. She runs to the end of the row and stops; when he catches up to her, he's as flabbergasted as she is.

A mountain of contorted steel lies before them. The arm of the crane is bent onto itself, twisted, creating a cocoon. The engine and the cabin are destroyed, and a tangle of wiring and steel cable is wrapped tight, making it a deconstructed version of a ball of yarn. A dangerous ball of yarn. One that could kill.

A couple of MTA workers are just as shocked as they are. They must have heard the crash and hurried to the spot, and they're already radioing for help. They need to hurry; they can't afford explanations.

They need to hurry because there's not a noise coming out from the wreckage.

"Fuck." Mulder cusses under his breath and approaches the men. "I'm Agent Miller with the FBI. Do you know what happened here?"

"FBI?" An African American in a hard hat asks, surprised at Mulder's rank. "Look, man, I just—we just heard the crash and rushed here. Why is the FBI-? What's going on? Is this some terrorist shit?"

"Have you seen a woman or a child of about ten years old around here?" Mulder asks, frenzied.

"We weren't doing the rounds yet," the other worker responds this time, a typical Brooklyn guy with the Italian descent evident on him. "It's too fucking cold, man."

"Agent, here!" Hastings kneels in front of an opening on the left side. "There's a space underneath."

He rushes and kneels beside her. Indeed, embedded in the snow and slush, the bars of the arm have created a pocket. He can see Scully's jacket.

"Scully!" It's getting dark already and there's not enough light filtering through the wreckage to define anything, to see if there's movement, to confirm signs of life. "Scully, talk to me!"

"Wait, there's someone trapped underneath?" The first worker asks.

"Do you have any shovels? Maybe even a car jack?" Hastings asks the men as she digs around the opening, or, she tries. The ground is frozen and it's to no avail. Mulder tries to squeeze himself through but he's too big.

"Scully!" He tries again, and now he sees movement.

"I'll see what we have at the tool shed." The Brooklyn guy takes off while the other stays behind trying to figure out a way to aid them.

"Mulder!" Her voice is low and exhausted as she coughs. She has to be wounded. "In here- We're in here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OG comments from OG FFN post:  
> A/N:
> 
> As we approach the ending... it is just so rewarding to hear all of your opinions and flails over my FB, Twitter... Ky03elk, you kill me! So do you, Jossa.   
> Seriously, this has been a fun ride.   
> Just a few chapters to go, thank KyinHI for her amazing beta skills and suggestions when POVs for this story have been quite challenging along the way.
> 
> As always, love to hear back from you, flames, shrieks et all. BWJ.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on The Essence of Existence…
> 
> "Wait, there's someone trapped underneath?" The first worker asks.
> 
> "Do you have any shovels? Maybe even a car jack?" Hastings asks the men as she digsaround the opening, or, she tries. The ground is frozen and it's to no avail. Mulder tries to squeeze himself through but he's too big.
> 
> "Scully!" He tries again, and now he sees movement.
> 
> "I'll see what we have at the tool shed." The Brooklyn guy takes off while the other stays behind trying to figure out a way to aid them.
> 
> "Mulder!" Her voice is low and exhausted as she coughs. She has to be wounded. "In here- We're in here."

He needs to get them out of there, fast. Mulder gets off the ground and looks around for _something_ \- a tool or another type of machine that could help. Getting the FDNY involved, even though he'd love to have a Jaws of Life handy, would raise too many questions.

"Quick, grab those pipes," he signals to Anne and the MTA worker. Stray metal pipes lay discarded just a few feet away. They drag them over and set them over a broken piece of the crane's arm that lays detached to the side to create an angle that could allow them to lift some of the wreckage.

"What are we doing?" the man asks. "Shouldn't we call the paramedics? The fire department?"

"No, push!" Mulder shouts. He pushes down with all of his might. The tenderness caused by Curtis' blows to his ribs pulls and burns but he doesn't care. For all he knows, they could be wounded and bleeding; he needs to take them out immediately. "Harder!"

The other MTA worker brings a pickaxe and successfully breaks ground around the opening, making the space just large enough to maneuver. Mulder signals for him to trade places so he can get to work.

"I think I can…" Mulder stretches and worms through the opening. He grazes her skin; it's covered in blood. She moves just slightly under his touch. She's alive.

"Grab my hand, Scully!" He strains; he can't move any deeper. "Scully… please."

They really don't have endearing names for each other, none that they've consciously established, but the way his voice drops with his plea, infused with all the urgency and love he could ever muster for the only person that managed to break through all the barriers of his self-imposed life mission… it speaks of a care and endearment larger than any concept. For that split moment there's just silence and the buzz of his blood tormenting him with the painful perspective that this might be the last time he feels the warmth of her skin.

Air comes back to his lungs in a rush when her grasp wraps firmly around his fingers.

"That's it, hold tight…" Mulder pulls, careful but swift. Scully grabs onto him strongly, one hand on his and the other hugging their son to her chest closely as he drags her out. He hears her moan in pain as they move and it worries him. But she's alive. Her eyes are looking at him deeply and relieved, with the most beautiful shade of blue he ever remembers seeing. She's alive.

"Are you okay? Is he okay?" He asks frantically as he helps her sit up. Her face is scratched, bloody, but there are no deep gashes to worry about. William is unconscious.

"I think, my ribs- but William… he just…" Her tears wash away the blood staining her face.

"Do you think we need to take him somewhere? Are you-? " Mulder whispers to her, frustrated and not even able to complete a thought as he checks on his son. His body is limp but his breathing is steady. They really cannot afford to go to a hospital, but he'll figure something out if the situation is dire enough.

"What do you want to do?" Hastings asks, careful and shy, trying to block the MTA workers from seeing William's face. He's gotta commend her for her discretion.

"His pulse is steady and he doesn't seem to have any wounds… but Mulder," Scully trips over her words, confusion written all over her features. "He just- if you'd seen him; he was the one that did this. He was the one that … _killed her_."

Mulder looks at the boy. A ten year-old- his ten year-old just managed to end someone's life… despite who _it_ was, he can't help but feel a crushing sense of dread by the fact that he's had to do it. _Who are you? What mysteries am I yet to know about you?_ Did he really kill a supersoldier? What's the extent of his powers?

"Sir," Hastings prompts again. "What do you want to do?"

Mulder checks on the officer's expectant face and Scully's. They need to do some serious damage control. He feels the faint movement of his son's body in his lap, stirring back to consciousness.

"William, buddy, are you okay?" He asks.

"I'll be fine," the kid assures him and tries to sit up.

Hastings steps aside as her radio sparks to life, LT's voice filtering through.

"Not yet, Will. Not yet." Scully carefully stops him from exerting himself and checks him further despite her own injuries. She avoids moving her right arm; she must have injured it at some point, but she continues and it's so like Scully to put everyone else before her.

"Excuse me, who did you say you were, again?" The African American asks, confused and obviously suspicious now.

"Agent," Hastings says, dismissing the man's probe. "LT is good to go."

* * *

Castle stands nervously. The shooting ceased and he can hear sirens approaching. A sense of dread and anticipation sits heavy in his stomach in a mix of emotions… Anticipation of what's to come. It's almost over, just a few more moments of uncertainty... followed by even more moments of uncertainty. _Who is he kidding?_

Four men have climbed down already, ordering him to evacuate, but he won't move yet. Not without her.

"No! Please!" A girl pleads, crying as they drag her down forcefully. A member of the cult, he gathers. Her face is young; she can't be much more than eighteen. Her brownish skin is splattered with blood that isn't hers and he wonders just how grotesque the scene is upstairs.

"You can't do this!" Another girl cries; she's even smaller, a weak looking dirty blonde with swollen eyes and a sob on her lips. "Please. Please we just want to go home!"

" _Shut it_." The man pushes them past him and towards the landing of the second floor.

"Move! Fast!" One man barks as he comes down, followed by Reyes.

"What's going on? Monica - Where's Kate?" Castle asks her while she surveys the evacuation. Fear is starting to get the best of him.

"Move, you two! Down the hall! The rest, down the shaft!" The rogue assassin orders, pushing the pleading girls forward. More men come down the stairwell, but there's no sight of her yet.

"Doggett and White went a level lower, they're okay." Esposito informs Monica. "Our captain has confirmed the deployment of the whole cavalry, so that's them we hear."

Everyone is escaping so _where is she?!_

"Castle, clear out," Reyes orders him. But he won't. He meets defiant eyes with the woman. _Come down to me, now._

* * *

The sirens and patrol cars approach them and she holds Curtis, his body limp and leaning against the curb, cuffed; a noticeable bruise is spreading through his temple.

"Officer Velazquez, what's going on here?" Detective Sole climbs out of his unit followed by Karpowski.

"Detective Sole, just in time," Velazquez responds, jumping at her practiced explanation. "This is Curtis Weaver, sir. Hastings and I caught him about to shoot Agent Miller."

"The leader of the cult?" Karpowski asks this time. "Was he escaping the advance team?"

"Ma'am-" Velazquez starts, but Sole quickly shoots another question her way.

"Where's your unit?" This is the one that she was dreading having to explain.

"We- We were responding to a call about a detonation two blocks West." She continues with her script. "LT is over there checking it out, meanwhile Hastings and I canvassed the area and saw the scuffle."

Sole looks at her, as if trying to decide if he wants to believe her or not, but she makes her best attempt to seem nonchalant.

"Is he alright?" The old detective asks. "Did he have any part in that explosion?"

"I'd say so sir, though Agent Miller would be the one to give you the details," she improvises.

"And where's Miller?" Sole asks, naturally. "Where are Esposito and Beckett?

"Miller-He… took off with Hastings…" She tries to explain with a believable inflection. "They're checking the perimeter. As for the others…" Velazquez turns towards the direction of the complex in a silent nod.

An FDNY ladder truck passes them, blasting the siren and startling Curtis awake.

"Velazquez, put him in our unit," Karpowski orders. "And gather your teammates - get to the site already."

She nods her confirmation as an uncooperative Weaver fights back weakly. Karpowski hikes it towards the complex while Velazquez and Sole drag Weaver into the idling Taurus. The man huffs, reminding her of a raging bull, angry and manic.

She fears that a simple cage won't be enough to dull his intentions.

* * *

"Flanagan, is your crew complete?" Skinner asks as he comes down and lands near Castle.

"Yes, sir," the man commanding the rogue group responds right away. And then Castle hears the distinct and strong tapping of heels he's learned to identify over the years.

"Castle!" Beckett's voice calls out and he already thinks that - by far - this is the most beautiful and relieving sound he's heard in his life.

"God, Kate!" He rushes to her, trapping her in a tight embrace. Her hair tickles his skin and he revels in the feel of having her back. But it's short lived. They have to get moving.

"Carmichael! Grab that end. Jam it against the doors." Flanagan instructs, grabbing a heavy metal desk and both men hurry to drag it closer to the doors enclosing the hall, setting it up to block the entrance.

"Please, please don't," the second girl is on the verge of hysteria. It dawns on him that they're planning to trap them in the area that's about to be under the blast from the bombs they've set up on the roof.

"What are you doing?" Castle turns to the men, questioning them, outrage brewing in him. "They're just kids!"

"You were ordered to clear out. Get out of our way," Flanagan defies.

Esposito stands to the side, obvious hesitation written all over his face. He was once a soldier, but now he stands for different values. Values that he knows he stands strongly for. But Javier doesn't act on his impulses, even though Castle knows that the detective is aware he sees the injustice before them. For a moment his sense of impotence takes over him. He won't stand for it.

"No!" Castle exclaims, shaking his head. "I can't allow this madness anymore."

Beckett joins him in his objection, standing by his side in silent protest, her eyes meeting Reyes' troubled expression.

The moment dissolves as Beckett takes a step towards the door and the sobbing girls. Reyes tries to block her but Beckett stands defiant.

"Move out of the way," Kate orders, resolute. Castle has seen her this angry before and it never ends well. Reyes hesitates, and meets eyes with him as well. He can't play devil's advocate with this situation; it would betray what they stand for… even when he knows that the woman can make a logical argument to justify their intentions. "You two, out, with me," Beckett instructs to the younger women, helping them climb over the desk.

"Beckett if you do this, they become your responsibility," Monica warns.

"Then so be it," she states, dragging the girls away, their faces already showing a profound relief through their fear.

Monica looks away. She's holding back, Castle can tell.

"They won't be long," Skinner warns them, taking a look towards the end of the hall. The supersoldiers must have figured out their intentions or at the very least are just doing the natural thing and trying to escape this mayhem. They have to make it out and blast them before it's too late.

"What about Ally?" Castle asks, but as Skinner is about to respond they hear a dragging sound and the metallic pang of a fire door closing.

"Wait!" Diana's voice comes booming from inside and running toward them. "We bought us a few more seconds; they're locked behind."

"Move! Now!" Esposito shouts, urging the last of the group out and down the stairwell. The daunting woman climbs down before them, her jacket astray in her haste to run; Castle can see the signature that deems her inhuman. So can Kate, he confirms it when he meets her eyes. They get to the bottom floor and dash out, passing the bodies and the debris, through the West gate and onto the street.

"Everyone out?" Skinner asks, as he surveys the group.

Castle looks around; Beckett is tight by his side… Reyes looks up and toward the roof, expectancy in her eyes. Esposito is bent over, catching his breath… the rogue group of men sprawls around. Skinner meets eyes with him; he's checking his watch.

"It's been over three minutes," he says, looking back at the entrance of the building. "She should be out by now too."

He too looks intently towards the West gate. _Come on, Ally… Make it out._

* * *

"This is some serious ammo, LT," Velazquez observes as she peeks into the dark van. "Who are these people? Are we even sure we're on the right side here?"

"That isn't the only weird thing. See this?" Tolliver climbs out the side door, landing on the blast stain and signaling to what he can only classify as a crime scene. "This is where the explosion happened."

"What could account for this undamaged area?" Velazquez asks him, grazing the change in texture of the paint job, curiosity obviously sparking wild.

"I don't know but- I think the right questions would be: Who were they attacking? Who was the attacker? Why so much ammo? And do we really want to know?" He cracks his neck and turns his head at the sound of an incoming car. It's their NYPD van. "Here they come."

Miller makes a U-Turn, backing the rear end of the vehicle closer to the rear end of their van. The doors open and everyone climbs out: the FBI agent, Hastings… and a woman and boy hiding his face in a black hoodie. They're both hurt if he was to judge by the way they walk.

"LT. Velazquez," Miller orders, hitting the ground running. "Transfer all of the load to their van."

"Who are they?" Velazquez asks, but Hastings ignores her while she helps him to move the boxes out.

The red head walks slowly towards the front of the other van. She's seriously hurt, wheezing and leaning on the boy and Miller; her face is bruised, blood stains her porcelain skin. _That boy,_ LT considers… _could it be_?

"There were a couple of guys that came out looking," LT informs Hastings. "I sent them on their way, but it cost me fifty bucks. You're buying my lunch for a week."

Hastings meets eyes with him and he shrugs. It was better than to keep them hanging around for this.

"You know very well that your lunch bill goes much higher than that," Hastings retorts.

"Are they okay?" He asks this time. LT is starting to worry; he might not stand in the way, but that doesn't grant he can just ignore what's limping in front of him.

"Scully, I can't let you do this; you can't drive, you're not okay," LT overhears Miller say to the woman. Obvious worry is painted all over the features of the agent. She shakes her head, but only half-heartedly.

"Velazquez," Miller calls out after he's done helping Scully up into the van's front seat. The officer comes to him, cautious.

"As soon as we're done, drive her to the nearest hospital," he orders, weary, and for a moment it seems like he's hesitant about it. "Do not let the boy out of your sight. LT, Hastings and I will take the NYPD van back to the complex-"

"Aren't the paramedics already right here? Ambulances, something more appropriate than this?" Velazquez interrupts Mulder assessing the situation. LT tends to agree with her. This woman needs medical attention right away.

"Just do what he says," Hastings barks at her, losing her patience.

"Anne, no. Isn't he the Van De Kamp boy?" Velazquez counters back, stating what LT had suspected. Hastings stops her actions and goes to her.

"I told you we'd have to think outside the box for this one." Anne levels with her but Velazquez won't have it.

"What are we doing?" She spews. "They're obviously hurt. Who is this woman? Are they part of the cult?"

The sooner that he finishes this task, LT thinks, the sooner they can go back to their supervisors... and maybe find a plausible way to explain to inquiring minds their part in this whole strange operation.

Miller walks over to them and grabs Velazquez by her arm, turning the woman to him, forcefully.

"Officer Velazquez, you're in this team for a reason, you're here because you're trusted." The volume and harshness of his words speaks to his compromised position in the situation. LT wonders just what is the truth about Miller, what's he missing here. "Can I trust you to stop asking stupid questions and obey your orders?"

"Dad!" The boy shouts from inside the van, and LT meets eyes with Hastings and Velazquez. Both of his female counterparts are just as surprised, their shock coming just in time to hear the distinct and loud bang of a C4 detonation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> I love that many of you not only are coming to this story but also finding my other ones and enjoying them. Thanks so much for all your reviews and favorites, they make my day! I hope that the "breathing break" that I gave you with the last chapter was good enough, because... I don't think you'll get one anymore!
> 
> Also, I'd like to give a shout out to Ky03elk and Marie, who give the bestest feedback. And rest assured, Marie. The fic is done; by tonight, most likely, all chapters will be in the system, waiting to be posted.
> 
> As always, thanks from the bottom of my heart to my unicorn, that even when we're both so exhausted, we can still make time for each other's crazy!


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on The Essence of Existence…
> 
> "What are we doing?" She spews. "They're obviously hurt. Who is this woman? Are they part of the cult?"
> 
> The sooner that he finishes this task, LT thinks, the sooner they can go back to their supervisors... and maybe find a plausible way to explain to inquiring minds their part in this whole strange operation.
> 
> Miller walks over to them and grabs Velazquez by her arm, turning the woman to him, forcefully.
> 
> "Officer Velazquez, you're in this team for a reason, you're here because you're trusted." The volume and harshness of his words speaks to his compromised position in the situation. LT wonders just what is the truth about Miller, what's he missing here. "Can I trust you to stop asking stupid questions and obey your orders?"
> 
> "Dad!" The boy shouts from inside the van, and LT meets eyes with Hastings and Velazquez. Both of his female counterparts are just as surprised, their shock coming just in time to hear the distinct and loud bang of a C4 detonation.

Mulder rushes to the front of the van, rattled by the explosion but worried by the issue at hand. He hopes that the team is pushing through according to plan, but a part of him fears that his absence has been damaging. Mulder checks on his son who stares somewhat excitedly at him.

"Mulder –," Scully begins, startled by the sound as well, but he stops her, carefully. She presses on. "That detonation. You know what that means…"

"Yes. I know. But—" He trips over his words, worry is beginning to overwhelm him. She may be stubborn but he's learned to plow through her resistance over the years. "Scully, you need—"

"There's no need," she shakes her head, a small smile creeping on her lips despite the daunting look of her blood smeared face.

"We won't have to go. I helped her," William says, telegraphing what he means through a poignant look and placing his hand softly over his mother's ribcage. Scully definitely looks better, a healthier tint coming back to her cheeks. "You should continue... We'll be okay."

The boy looks shyly toward him but he's sure of himself. Mulder can't quite comprehend yet what has happened but he's glad that the odds are looking like he'll get to have another day to find out. They need to make it through; he needs more time to learn about all the marvels that have been kept at arm's length all this time. William's his son… and it dawns on him that this tightening in his chest is most likely the most overwhelming sense of pride he's ever felt in his life.

"I'll be alright," Scully confirms, slow. "I'm fine."

Mulder knows that _I'm fine_ , he's heard it before; she's trying to be strong for them.

"I need them away from here." He looks at Hastings this time.

"Agent Miller," Anne stands next to Velazquez, surprised and in shock. "I think _everyone_ needs to be away from here. That was a _huge_ explosion."

" _That_ was actually part of the operation," Mulder informs ironically. "I need one of you to drive them away."

LT continues loading up the van while Hastings and Velazquez consider their options.

"Sir, with all due respect," Velazquez starts, careful. "I think our role is to assist our department."

" _This_ is 'assisting your department,'" Mulder counters, exasperated.

"Mulder." Scully's voice is firmer this time around. "You need everyone here. I'm okay, seriously."

He comes closer to her, tightening his fists in impotence.

"Scully-" He begins to argue but she shushes him, kindly. She reaches out to him, taking his hand and instantly relaxing him with her touch. He meets eyes with her, tucking a blood-covered strand of hair behind her ear, red on red.

"It's alright, I can do it." Her blue eyes pierce painfully through him. He can't resist her. Mulder leans in and softly kisses her lips; he's beyond caring what the officers think at this point. His cover is about blown. Her hand goes up and around his neck, carding her fingers through his hair; with that gentle touch she's managed to render him useless. "Come back to me, okay?"

"I will," he vows, breaking apart and darting a look at his son, who's looking away, embarrassed. "I did already, didn't I?"

"Yeah," she nods, and looks at the officers working fast just a few feet away. "Go finish repaying this favor."

They owe these people so much.

"Done. It's tight. But everything is secure," LT announces, breaking the spell as he slides in the last evidence box. The female officers close the cargo doors with a dubious Velazquez meeting shy eyes with him.

"Let's go," Mulder says as he sees the smoke faintly paint the gloom-filled, darkening skies.

* * *

Ash and dust fall on them copiously, _like snow_ , she thinks, finding poetry in the devastation before her. Monica tries to focus her eyes on the thick cloud that surrounds the building. Her ears ring and everything around her seems to be moving in slow motion, but too fast at the same time. The structure didn't collapse completely, but the whole top two stories of the West wing and some of the center of the complex seems to be gone.

NYPD officers run toward them. The FDNY and ambulances react, ready to roll, the noise of the sirens slowly seeps into her consciousness.

"Where are they?" Monica asks to no one in particular, her voice coarse as she gets up from the ground. "Are you sure they got out?"

"White confirmed they were on their way down the hall," Esposito responds. He's equally covered in soot and pulverized concrete. "I'm sure they must be-

"Did they make it out?!" She repeats cutting him off. "Did she make it out?"

Beckett and Castle get up from the ground as well, dusting themselves off and surveying the situation. The two surviving cult members stare in awe at the scene. Skinner is to her left as she walks, searching… _Where's Ally?_

"I'm right here," the girl's voice calls out, a shout from behind her as she comes through the smoking remains of the West entrance. Her clothes are completely covered in debris; her face ashen with micro-cuts covering her skin.

"I thought you—" Monica begins but Ally shakes her head.

"Hey now- I made it out… and in one piece." Ally squares her with a look; sobering and resolute but then softens just an inch. "The wire wasn't long enough, I had to trigger the explosion just a few feet from the first floor landing."

Monica shakes her head in a mix of relief and disbelief.

Esposito walks towards the cult girls and helps them up, taking them right away and putting them inside the patrol cars that have arrived. Diana stands away from the building, near the empty lot by the corner and nods at her, confirming her well-being… _As if she cared._

"Where's John?" Ally asks.

"I haven't seen him yet," … _Worry, it must be painted all over her._

Castle takes a few steps toward their huddle. Despite their previous scuffle over the cult survivors, Monica holds a deep appreciation for the man. She really does. He's cautious in his approach to them.

"Don't—" Ally starts, but he cuts her off, silencing her reproach of any show of emotion with a playful and hesitant punch to her shoulder.

"Noted. No cutesy stuff," he retorts, nodding, keeping it simple. But his face beams. He's obviously happy that the girl is alive. Monica smiles too, despite her worry, because the way that Ally carries out her interactions with people is always so protracted… she was damaged so deeply. Looking at the wreckage before her, Monica wonders if this means that she can finally begin to heal.

"John?" Castle asks.

"We're still waiting," Reyes responds, taking a deep breath, unable to keep still on her feet. They could start circling the block, look for him and White, but their roaming will for sure draw attention to their presence. They agreed to wait here; she needs to be patient.

"Beckett!" An older man in suit, _NYPD_ , she thinks, approaches them." What's going on? We just ran into Velazquez. She has Weaver in custody; she and a couple of uniforms caught him as he was about to shoot Agent Miller."

Monica moves demurely towards them as Beckett and Castle meet the older detective half way, trying to overhear the conversation without calling too much attention to herself. Esposito comes back too, taking his place in the group.

The building steams as the troops of firemen lay their lines to extinguish the progressing fires. Kate shakes her head avoiding too much of an explanation just yet.

"Is Miller okay?" Beckett asks, and Karpowski nods, but shrugs non-committal.

"We don't really know for sure. He wasn't there," she says, a tinge of annoyance filling her tone. "Welcome back, Castle." The writer responds with a tight smile.

"Was this a bomb? Do we know if there's people trapped inside?" Sole asks.

"We have two girls in custody, but -Guys, we need a pow-wow, fast," Beckett instructs, pulling them to the side and away from the building.

"I'd say," Karpowski mocks, following her away.

Monica takes advantage of this moment to walk toward the building, and Ally and Skinner follow close; if John was still trying to make it out at the moment the charges went off, he must be close to one of the exits of the complex.

She makes the math, trying to devise a sound access. What if he's still trapped inside? What if there wasn't enough time? With each second that passes, her fears build up; he needs to be okay. Tears start to well up in her eyes, reacting to the list of scenarios in her head.

"Monica," someone grabs her by her left arm, and for a moment she's ready to respond with a punch but she knows this grip. She knows it very well. She turns around and her throat closes, overwhelmed by relief and emotion.

"John!" she exclaims, throwing herself at her husband who comes with White in tow. It's a desperate embrace, seasoned with kisses that leave them breathless and on edge. "Thank God! Are you alright?" She laughs between sobs as he wipes away her tears.

"I'm okay, I'm okay. Are you okay?" John calms her down, pulling her tight to his muscular chest as she nods against him, letting herself lose her death grip on her fears, her body shaking in pent-up anxiety and worry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you."

Monica burrows her face in the crook of his neck, smelling the familiar smell of him, dust, and relishing in his warmth. She smiles against his skin, relief coursing through her.

"Ally?" John asks, and she turns around to look for the girl, who stands awkwardly just a few feet away.

"This is not over, I have no time for—" The girl tries to stop John's approach towards her, uncomfortable with the emotive moment they're allowing themselves. She pushes him away.

"I'm okay." She says, finally conceding. Monica smiles as they pull her into a group hug. She extends a hand towards Skinner, not wanting to leave him out of this strange family huddle. He takes it, warmly, awkwardly relieved.

"I hate you all," Ally groans as she disentangles herself and they begin to walk away.

"We gotta take off, we can't be seen by the NYPD," White announces to Skinner, interrupting the moment. They shake hands discreetly.

"We'll take it from here," Doggett confirms shaking his hand too. "Thanks, White."

"Any day, you know where to find me," White salutes. John smiles at the man as he courteously bows to Monica and Ally. "A pleasure, Ma'ams."

Monica spots the flurry of activity intensifying around them and so does John, worry strengthening on his features.

"NYPD apprehended Curtis," Skinner informs John. "They caught him red handed trying to shoot Mulder."

"If he got intercepted, then what about the other Diana and—" John asks, worried.

Skinner looks at Ally, shy.

"Can you _sense_ anything?" he asks. Monica knows that this is not the man's forte, engaging the girl's faculties.

But Ally shakes her head.

"Whatever it is they're up to, they're out of my range," she responds.

The NYPD detectives' faces speak of disbelief; Monica worries now too that many questions will flood in after their partners' act... Especially with the surviving girls being able to tell their own story. Beckett is following the plan to a T after that entire scuffle. Reyes wants to let it go but the whole issue is still nagging at her.

"We can't stick around much longer, I'm already seeing a few familiar faces," Doggett assesses when he follows her gaze towards the officers milling around them.

They move toward the empty lot at the northwest corner across from the building, and away from the perimeter that the NYPD has started to seal. Diana stands to the side of a dilapidated concrete wall that gives entrance to the area.

"Glad you made it out okay," Diana says, stoic, and John nods.

"Thank you for the help in there, that was a good call," he responds, almost friendly. Monica trades a look with Ally. She's intrigued. "If it hadn't been for you leading them through that maze of workspaces, I don't think we'd have been able to trap them, let alone escape."

"I had a promise to uphold," Diana shrugs. Doggett throws her a silent regard and sides up to Monica. She's going to want to hear more about this story, later.

More officers and patrol cars show up and she can see her husband's anxiety growing. He really cannot afford to be recognized by former NYPD buddies, not after all these years. They already have too much to explain if anyone were to ask why they were in the area. They need to go, try to get a hold of Mulder and confirm their meeting place.

"I can't leave until Mulder comes back," Ally declares, obviously reading her thoughts. She was expecting it.

"Lets give him ten minutes," Doggett responds, wiping dust from his face. "He will come back here if everything is fine, he needs to keep face."

"What if he doesn't?" Monica asks.

"Then we have bigger problems than we think," Skinner finalizes, meeting eyes with her and a worried and guilty Diana Fowley.

* * *

A larger group has formed. Once the other detectives spotted Beckett and Esposito, they rushed in on the hunt for updates about the situation within the complex. Night is starting to set in as Castle walks by her side, and he curbs his need to grab her hand, to relish in the safe feel of her return. There will be a moment for that later. Many moments, he hopes.

The support teams have set bright work lights around the area, shining them against the snow, creating an almost surreal landscape around them. Detectives from the 54th and the 118th, as well as many uniforms Castle doesn't recognize, gather around them. FDNY officers and paramedics stand alert, away from the others, already working on the outer shell of the building.

"This is the situation," Beckett starts. "The cult has already detonated a device and we know they have more. We escaped just in time. We crashed their _Ascension_ _Ritual._ "

The gathered body of detectives and department heads take a deep breath at the significance of her words. They're very aware of what those rituals could entail, and so their features fill with dread.

Castle repeats his version of the story in his head while Beckett continues her report, making sure that he's hitting all the right plot points that will make this story believable; _write your story, flesh out this character, just in case_. He'll ponder the irony of all this sometime in the future, when he's able to figure out how to get this story out of his head and onto paper. Maybe he'll adopt a 'nom de plume' for it, because claiming this story under the Richard Castle brand will make every editor at Black Pawn scoff.

"How many casualties are we talking about here?" Detective Foucault from the 118th asks.

"Many…" Esposito answers this time. "We can't be precise, but the casualties… include William Van de Kamp."

The reaction of the group is somber; caught breaths and held sobs, as the youngest officers take in the news. He can't, he won't let the voice in the back of his head sabotage the carefully laid out veil of denial he's cast over his own conscience.

"How?" Sole's face reflects the weight of this piece of news. For these people, this mission is already a failure. The man's cheeks tremble, his brow furrows and it looks like he's having a hard time to possibly contain a few cuss words.

"Castle saw it all. He never stood a chance." They all turn to look at him; a knot settles in his stomach when he tries to swallow the lump stuck in this throat.

"The held a _fire cleansing_ ," he states. "These people… they're monsters."

Sympathetic looks, sad gazes, grave eyes on him, lamenting and pitying him, and he knows that there will be a couch in the fourth ring of hell awaiting him over this cruel and treacherous move on this empathetic community.

"I made it out in one piece because they arrived just as they were about to off me," he explains looking at Esposito and Beckett, somber, playing his part.

"And this bastard tried to escape!?" Karpowski challenges, irate, emotions volatile as always, looking toward the direction that they're holding Curtis. "Da' fuck, man. He needs to boil."

"We need to get back in there though," Beckett laments. "We saw some of the stuff they have, enough to blow a hole through Manhattan. They locked themselves up in the center of the complex."

A nervous energy takes over the youngest officers in the circle. Everyone is looking at the smoking pile of concrete before them and playing out in their heads what most likely are daunting scenarios they're dreading to confront. Castle is thankful that he hasn't had to take too much of a part in this download, fearing his own nerves might betray him.

"Shouldn't we wait for the bomb squad?" A young female detective from the 54th asks.

"I say we barge in before they have any chance to regroup from this blast," Karpowski suggests.

"Is the structure even safe for us to approach it?" Sole is worried and within good reason.

"We can run a quick scan as we go," the FDNY chief on his right intervenes this time, eager to accommodate despite the out-of-procedure suggestions. _They're too invested._ "But if there's still active members inside, willing to keep the attack on, it has to be a simultaneous move. Assess and advance."

Everyone nods, considering the needs and Beckett's account of events. He meets eyes with her. He needs out of this nightmare soon.

"One last thing guys," Esposito says, taking a pause. "The guys in there… not likely to surrender. So be advised."

The men and women meet eyes reading between the lines.

"I say we have a sound plan," Karpowski settles. "Round up the uniforms. Let's have your people lead our way, chief."

The group disbands in tactical clusters, gearing up and flexing muscles, ready for the task at hand. Castle sides up to Beckett, who stays behind for a brief moment.

"I have to go back in there." She tells him what he already knew.

"I wish you didn't have to," Castle whispers, checking that no one around them spots the proximity of their bodies. He crosses a look with Esposito who he nods his complicity. _Thank god for good bros_ , he thinks as he leads her behind one of the tactical teams' vans.

"I can't let Esposito go by himself. They're going to question it if I drop the ball and don't lead the team from the 12th," she says, guessing his intentions.

_They're going to question it?_ He mentally scoffs, because anyone in his or her right mind would have questioned _everything_ since this whole situation started. How they've gotten around dodging questions and allowing the constant logic challenges honestly baffles him. _The stars of unfeasibility must have aligned_ , he thinks.

"Feign an injury, give the spotlight to Espo, command the operation from outside, I—" Castle pleads, trying to find the words. "It's going to sound stupid, but I just don't feel alright with it, I… I have a bad vibe about it."

She shakes her head, a shaky breath escaping her lips. "There's no way you can ever have a good vibe about anything that has happened in there… About what we've done."

Kate looks around them; everyone is focused on the task and they're sheltered from prying eyes… so she takes the chance, grabbing him by his shirt collar and fusing their lips, hungry and desperate. Warmth spreads throughout him, comforting, exhilarating, filling all the spaces that anxiety had claimed within. Her hand grabs his, fingers twining firmly as their mouths relish in wet caresses.

If it weren't for the fact that ruthless alien assassins are just feet away from them, and the fact that they need to take care of it … and well, decency and all that… he'd pin her to this van and show her just how much he doesn't want her to go.

She finally separates, with a shuddering breath. Soft eyes land on him, loving eyes; she wipes the moisture delicately from his lips, transferring some of the dark magnetite dust to his skin.

"What is this?" she asks, perplexed by the dark dust and trying to undo her smear.

"That's ok, it's just… magnetite," he says, helping her clean herself up with her scarf and scoffing at the fact that this is normal now. "I carried a bunch of the stuff from the basement under the East wing. I carried stuff, Beckett. It was very manly."

She snorts, shaking her head. He'd be wounded if it weren't for the fact that he knows he set himself up.

"I'm going to go do my job," she says, liquid gold meeting his blues. He nods as she lets go of his hand and walks away from him, back into hell.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on The Essence of Existence…
> 
> If it weren't for the fact that ruthless alien assassins are just feet away from them, and the fact that they need to take care of it … and well, decency and all that… he'd pin her to this van and show her just how much he doesn't want her to go.
> 
> She finally separates, with a shuddering breath. Soft eyes land on him, loving eyes; she wipes the moisture delicately from his lips, transferring some of the dark magnetite dust to his skin.
> 
> "What is this?" she asks, perplexed by the dark dust and trying to undo her smear.
> 
> "That's ok, it's just… magnetite," he says, helping her clean herself up with her scarf and scoffing at the fact that this is normal now. "I carried a bunch of the stuff from the basement under the East wing. I carried stuff, Beckett. It was very manly."
> 
> She snorts, shaking her head. He'd be wounded if it weren't for the fact that he knows he set himself up.
> 
> "I'm going to go do my job," she says, liquid gold meeting his blues. He nods as she lets go of his hand and walks away from him, back into hell.

Officer Tolliver drives the van. As he slowly approaches the building, they take in the activity around it. Smoke climbs obnoxiously off of the mountain of debris that used to be the West wing of the compound, but Tolliver says nothing. Mulder likes this guy; he's solid, doesn't ask unnecessary questions, or demand answers, not that he'd be willing to give any of those at this point.

FDNY and NYPD move as swarms around the block; some of the teams have taken to assess the damage, some others are about ready to go inside in mixed groups. Lights are up, ambulances are waiting, but he knows that most of them won't carry survivors. They'll probably need more coroner vans if the plan went accordingly.

He spots Esposito in the distance, as well as a few familiar faces from the 12th. There are a lot of people, _a lot_ more than he had really anticipated. All he hopes for is that in the confusion of things and the mess of the explosion that not many questions are asked. There will be some of course, but he can't help wishing.

He will never forgive himself for the fact that he abandoned his team to account for faults of his own planning. He should have never let Scully out of his sight, he should have known better, he should have figured out a better option for their time away from him. Staying in the vicinity was not the wisest choice… he's too used to having her by his side, as partners having each other's backs.

Now, they have to account for a different situation; their son isn't just a token frail boy. Mulder had never been one to meditate too much about the intricacies of parenting. Scully was the one to do that. It seems so frivolous and selfish of him to admit to that, to have let her take on the burden of being a parent even when she was childless for so long afterwards. The guilt never went away, the phantom need to relish in her motherly instincts was always a presence in her. But he's ready now, to take on all the significance and live up to the sacrifices that he never fully understood before. He's ready because William is also ready to be his son.

Ironically, his impatience to take on this mission might actually prevent him from doing so. He shouldn't have been so ambitious, trying to eliminate all the obstacles at once. Greed will be the end of him; ironically, he'd never thought _that_ sin would actually be the one that he'd fall for. Greed… wanting to possess all the freedom this cruel world has kept from him. The unquenchable thirst for peace and happiness… is that _too much_ to ask for?

The van comes to a halt as he signals LT to slow by the North West corner. He spots Monica and Walter standing nearby. He unbuckles and turns to the officers, meeting nervous and expectant eyes.

"Thank you, Officers," he offers. "I trust that you will keep discretion on this matter."

Hastings nods, throwing a look at Velazquez. The woman fixes her eyes on him and then looks away, taking a deep breath as if considering if she'll finally allow herself to think that he's not the enemy here.

"Yes, sir," she finally responds. LT nods respectfully as well.

"Now, join your team," he says as he climbs down from the van. Hastings takes his spot in the passenger seat. "Thank you… for what you did back there."

"My job, sir." She nods.

"Don't get yourself killed," Mulder wishes to her, tapping on the side of the van to signal them to leave. He trots to the corner, where his own team has already spotted him, expectant. Nervous looks cross between them, waiting for his tale.

"She's fine, they're fine." A collective sigh goes through them, silent gratefulness and relief. Ally looks at him, shaking her head releasing a soft snigger.

"Someone's got a magic wand…" Ally singsongs quietly at what Mulder suspects she just read on his mind.

"I'm sure we're going to need a doctor to check on both of them." He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. "They're going to meet us at these coordinates."

He hands over the data to Ally and John. They know better than to write them down somewhere, and they memorize them. John produces a lighter to leave no trace behind.

"What about…?" Diana asks. He knows what she's referring to, and he sees it on her; she feels guilty.

"That's a problem no more, it seems." He doesn't want to elaborate. Not right now, not when he doesn't know how he feels about what transpired, about the fact that his son has killed one of them, about what he did to do so.

Ally looks at him; Mulder knows he won't be able to keep anything from her, even when he doesn't want to share a story he can't quite grasp yet. He'll tell the others eventually, just not now. But then she turns to Diana, a deep-seated disgust for the woman seeps out of her. He's going to have to figure out a way to deal with this.

"How is it looking in there?" He asks, turning toward the action.

"We detonated the vests as we'd planned," Skinner informs him. "Any supersoldier inside has been doused with magnetite. If the collapse didn't take care of them, what's coming next will."

"They're storming in," John continues. "NYPD already took over."

"Beckett? Castle?" He asks.

"Everyone made it out," Skinner confirms, and he's relieved. The team looks expectant of his next order, but he doesn't quite know it yet. He fixes eyes on John. The man paces on his spot, coiled tight.

"You have to take off, right?" He asks Monica and Doggett, anticipating their actions; they'd discussed it before.

They nod; he understands. Prearranged plans have been set. Once everything is in place they'll make the last leg of this journey together and finally, _finally_ , be able to take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry for taking off on you," Mulder tells Doggett.

"You didn't do anything I wouldn't have done myself," John says, allowing him some relief. "Besides, it wasn't like we needed you or anything."

Mulder lets out a soft snort. How he's come to rely on this guy after their rocky beginnings is quite something. They shake hands and share a brief hug that isn't meant as a goodbye.

Monica hugs him as well, but he'd be damned if he didn't detect a disruption in her. They're so alike in many ways, but this isn't the Monica Reyes from last night. _Something_ has changed in her. Maybe he's been hanging way too much with Ally.

The couple shares a good-bye hug with Skinner and promises to keep in touch, and then they approach a hesitant Ally.

"Made up your mind yet?" John asks, careful.

"I need to see this through," she responds, sad but resolute.

"Figured as much." The girl smiles at him and he pulls her in for a hug, kissing her forehead. Monica hugs her as well, holding back tears, Mulder knows. They're tired. They're spent. Maybe this is what he senses in Monica; as much as she has learned to play it tough, he knows how the weight of it all eventually consumes her, letting her sensibilities show. _Touchy-feely Monica_ , as Ally likes to quip. He's too lucky to have these people around him - this weird family of his.

"I'm going to get back out there," Skinner announces, escorting them out. "I'm a Deputy Director supervising this operation after all. Mulder - You should come back too, before people continue to ask too many questions."

"I'll be right over," Mulder nods as he sees the man walk back to the site. The couple walks demurely the other way, blending in. He needs to go back out there but he has to settle some things first.

* * *

A group of uniforms go into the building following a few men from the Fire Department. Everything is moving along, he considers as he adopts his best FBI stance, an easy transition with the years of practice.

"Detective Beckett, how are we doing with the additional man power?" Skinner asks.

"We're good, though I'm nervous about Curtis Weaver running his mouth off to prying ears," the detective responds, avoiding any unofficial chatter; she's definitely back into her NYPD persona. "This is turning into an emotional situation. With the news that _William Van de Kamp has passed_ , I fear that a short fuse might want to take a stab at the whole deal."

"Understandable," he nods and meditates about it for a second. "Where is Weaver? I'm sure his prominence is quite enough that a federal custody is necessary."

Beckett catches his drift, lifting an eyebrow that reminding him of another fierce woman, and signals him to follow her. They approach a patrol car guarded by two uniforms, and he can already hear the mad screaming coming from inside. The two teens whose lives were spared are inside of other two units close-by. They look exhausted and traumatized, the skin of their faces stained with tears and dust.

"He's been rambling non-stop," Beckett informs as they peek inside the car and see a disheveled Curtis Weaver, bulging and angry eyes, sweaty and hysterical, laughing manically. The girls can hear him too, and he yells at them in a mixture of insults and praises that make no sense. The man has obviously lost it.

"Detective Beckett, can you go to channel seven?" The voice of a male officer filters through her open walkie and she turns the dial to go to the private channel.

"This is Beckett," she dials in.

"We may need you at the East wing," the officer informs her through the radio. "They're asking for the leader of the team; higher ups are arriving."

"FBI? Homeland?" She asks back. Skinner is weary, meeting worried eyes with Beckett. A leak, or even calling attention to themselves wasn't outside of the realm of the possibilities.

"I couldn't say, Sir." The officer is young, Skinner thinks, possibly caught off guard. "We were given orders to not let any other agency in but they're really insistent. I think you better come this way."

"Copy," Kate says.

"I'll check it out. Don't worry… I'll take care of it," she says to Skinner. She then nods toward Curtis. "In the mean time, I'd really appreciate your assistance." She walks away, leaving him behind and to his own devices.

Skinner thinks about it as he sees Curtis throw another round of kicks against the caged division of the unit … _Does he really need to let this guy live another day?_

* * *

"Hey, you ok?" he asks Ally, coming closer to the girl that has taken back her post surveying the activity.

"I heard about your run in with Curtis," she counters, not even meeting his eyes. She's not quite angry but he can see how it's beginning to dawn on her what has just happened. What they have done.

"I wanted to catch up," Mulder could keep it light, but he needs to make sure. "When you were in there… Is there anything you want to talk about?"

Ally turns to him; her eyes are bloodshot, and her cheeks tremble with anger.

"We should be fine." She mutters, obviously not over the fact that she's just faced the man. He fears that this operation has pushed her over the edge of her reasoning. She's walked the line before, the delicate balance that he fought so hard to give her. "We have other things to focus on, anyways."

Ally looks behind them. Diana stands there, a lonely figure, out of place, out of time. Almost like a stray dog waiting for some sympathy.

"You need to get rid of her," she says, above a whisper, in a plotting tone, throwing a side-glance in her direction. "We could do it, it would be easy. They had enough magnetite left over in the East wing that Castle and I couldn't haul. It's just a stroll over there… I'm just saying."

He sighs. They could. _He_ could.

* * *

Kate approaches the East wing entrance and spies the group huddled near a couple of uniforms. Suited bodies, impeccable and tailored, covered by blue FBI standard windbreakers. She counts fifteen. But there's something about them that ticks her off.

She swears she's seen one of those faces before.

"Espo," she calls to her friend who's setting to go back into the building.

"They're asking for the officer in charge," he informs her. "I was avoiding—"

"Pass yourself off for me," she requests, cutting him off.

"Why?" Javier questions her, understandably.

"Just do it," she shakes her head, eyes intense. Her instincts are flaring.

If they're really FBI, their cover will be blown; she'll have to get to Skinner and Mulder right away. Esposito cracks his neck, obviously tired, but he's game. The fact that the faces look familiar is nagging her enough to pull this stunt.

"Fine, _Esposito,_ " he says, humoring her.

"I'm right behind you," Kate pulls her jacket up, covering her face as much as she can with her scarf.

They approach the group and he signals for the officers to give them some privacy.

"Hi, I'm Detective Beckett," he begins once the uniforms are far enough away. "I understand you wanted to speak to me?"

"I was under the impression you were a _female_ detective," a commanding slim and bald guy counters.

"Honest mistake, lots of confusion around here; while we're at it, can I see some ID?" Esposito says, dismissive and cool as the snow he's standing on. The man before him reaches inside his jacket, producing a leather wallet that he hands over, annoyed.

"Special Agent Gene Crane with the FBI." Javier reads the credentials, almost sarcastically, and hands it back after sizing up the man. "What can I help you with?"

"We've been informed that there was a C4 explosion at this crime scene," the man informs.

"Word travels fast. We haven't been able to confirm but…are you taking over?" Esposito doesn't back away from the attitude the man is giving him and Kate fears that if they get into a pissing contest then others might bring up details they need to guard. Yet, _there's that guy_ , toward the middle of the group and to the right; she's definitely seen him before.

"If it's deemed a matter of National Security…" a man beside Crane answers, his face younger, definitely. Crane turns to him when he speaks and that's when she sees it, the ridged vertebrae on the neck, just like Diana's, just like the men that trapped them inside.

They're not FBI… they're supersoldiers.

That's where she saw that man, demurely trying to not draw attention to himself. He was at the syndicate's office; it had to be there. This is a strike team if she was ever to see one. They're here to finish the job, and she'll be damned if she's going to let them.

"You know what, Detective _Beckett_ ," Kate intervenes. "Why don't we show them to the scene, maybe then we can speed this up and turn it over if they're indeed claiming jurisdiction."

Javier meets confused eyes with her. Kate nods to him and luckily he follows along. _Thank you, Castle,_ she thinks as she remembers the soot covering his skin. "Just follow me this way."

She ushers them forward, walking behind them. They enter the building as a tight group.

"Right ahead, just down in the basement is where we located their stash." Kate leads them down a set of stairs she'd seen when they first entered the building hours ago.

She meets eyes with Esposito as she cocks her gun and follows the group along.

* * *

Skinner peeks through the open window of the back passenger door of Sole's unit, Glock in hand just in case, as Curtis thrashes like a mad animal inside the caged backseat. The officers guarding the car give him some space, keeping post at the front of the car.

"What do you want?" Curtis asks, pausing his deranged act at his presence.

"Doesn't matter, just someone that's curious to see how a mad man looks these days." Curtis is not going to let him get to him, he knows better than that.

"A mad man…" he ponders, still calmed considering his previous behavior. The guy is not to be trusted, Skinner knows; he's caustic.

" _And then he'll descend on us, he'll bless us with his presence, the almighty one shall take all suffering away!_ " Weaver starts in on his prayer, in fervent crescendo, escalating until it becomes a hysterical rant, violent and vile. He screams it now.

" _Do not fear, faithful ones! You own the truth! You know where your heart lies!_ " Curtis screams at the top of his lungs and starts thrashing on the seat. There has to be an end to this. It could be easy; once it's done, who's really going to question it? _Perp assaulted me while in custody, obviously mentally disturbed. I saw a threat_. That could be his flimsy justification that no one would object to. Everyone has already made up their minds.

His manic laugh comes back; it's a disgusting sight, his screams and wheezes fill the cabin of the car, spit flying from his mouth as he does; he hits his head on the glass of the half-rolled window, repeatedly. He really is putting on quite a number.

"You're delusional," Skinner comments.

"Pretty brave of you to throw insults my way when I'm tied up," he spews, suddenly changing the tone of his voice. _A possessed man_ , Skinner thinks. "Why don't you untie me and we'll go for a few rounds, old man?"

"I think you're pretty comfortable this way, Weaver," he responds, humoring his desperation.

"You think you've won, don't you?" Curtis meets feverish eyes with Skinner, his laugh echoing in his head.

* * *

Mulder joins Diana by the abandoned carcass of a Plymouth. Ally had turned her attention back to the activity of the forefront, so he lets her mull.

"How are you doing?" He asks, casually, and Diana scoffs.

"Are we really having this conversation?" she responds, not meeting eyes with him. There's a sadness to her that speaks of a mountain of realization that he could have sworn she was incapable of, especially after claiming a life like hers, whether she chose it or not. You'd think she'd be used to this, to not having a conscience, to not mourning, but it seems like deep inside her there is some sort of a structure to her life - whether she is aware of it or not. "I'm done. After this is over, I obviously have no plan."

If she goes back to the syndicate, she's obviously dead. If they sent out that replicant to set them up, it is quite clear that she's no longer a trusted part of their covenant. Even if she ran away and never looked back, this is not the kind of thing you escape. He knows that from now on there will be a bounty on her head.

"You could join us," he proposes and he can't even believe that he said that.

"I'm sure that would go well," she scoffs, throwing a side-glance toward Ally. "We should count our loses, relish in the past and let whatever is waiting out there just catch up to me."

He shakes his head, trying to figure out a way out for her as well. Damn the day she came back into his life, damn the day he remembered what was it like to be her friend, to remember what she once was to him, when she was human.

"Mother fucker!" Ally's effusive and angry shout breaks their pensive conversation.

"What?" he asks, rushing to her side.

"We have a runner," Ally cocks her gun. "Knowle Rohrer."

* * *

Curtis laughs in crescendo, establishing a metronomic rhythm as he hits his head again and again against the window. Coughs course through him as he thrashes against the metal mesh dividing the car. Twisting and turning in what could easily be described as a seizure, but he's doing it to himself, shouting and cussing, pressing his chest forcefully to every surface.

"What are you doing? Stop!" Skinner orders, tightening his grip on the gun and training it on the man. "Stop that! Stop before I stop you!"

" _The precious ones shall be my salvation, Lord!"_ Curtis yells. " _The precious ones shall bring justice to the beasts!"_

Twin screams explode at once; the two girls in the neighboring patrol cars shriek and cry out as if in pain, drawing the attention of the officers keeping guard of Curtis. There are deafening wails as they thrash inside of the units and the officers rush to figure out what's going on.

It goes fast. Curtis laughs, in a damning mutter of nonsensical prayers, taking advantage of the officers that have abandoned their posts outside the door. He kicks the window, his boots shattering it and hitting Skinner, square in the chest, propelling him to the ground and making him lose grip on his pistol. Skinner rushes to retrieve it just in time to see Weaver climb out through the opening. But he doesn't run away as the seasoned ex-FBI expected – No, instead he looks at him sardonically.

"I have the last word," Curtis says, straightening out as he laughs, puffing out his chest. And then Skinner sees it through the fabric of his pocket, the blinking red light shining away. His breath catches and he scrambles to get off the ground to get to him. Curtis turns, slamming his chest into the frame of the car. A cracking sound and a series of beeps filter through his laugh.

" _Shit!"_


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on The Essence of Existence...
> 
> Twin screams explode at once; the two girls in the neighboring patrol cars shriek and cry out as if in pain, drawing the attention of the officers keeping guard of Curtis. There are deafening wails as they thrash inside of the units and the officers rush to figure out what's going on.
> 
> It goes fast. Curtis laughs, in a damning mutter of nonsensical prayers, taking advantage of the officers that have abandoned their posts outside the door. He kicks the window, his boots shattering it and hitting Skinner, square in the chest, propelling him to the ground and making him lose grip on his pistol. Skinner rushes to retrieve it just in time to see Weaver climb out through the opening. But he doesn't run away as the seasoned ex-FBI expected – No, instead he looks at him sardonically.
> 
> "I have the last word," Curtis says, straightening out as he laughs, puffing out his chest. And then Skinner sees it through the fabric of his pocket, the blinking red light shining away. His breath catches and he scrambles to get off the ground to get to him. Curtis turns, slamming his chest into the frame of the car. A cracking sound and a series of beeps filter through his laugh.
> 
> "Shit!"

"Ally, wait!" Mulder goes after her, but she's not having any of it. She took off after the man, who's fast gaining distance, going east behind the building. A few uniforms take notice; hands land at their sides, instinctively reaching for their weapons in preparedness. Ally shoots one round at the man. She's beyond caring who sees them; the shot gazes him – it's not enough. Rohrer turns around, noticing his tail and continues to run away. He has a wound on his leg but that's not stopping him at all.

Is he really running away… or is he baiting them?

Mulder hears the scream - Skinner's scream – breaking through the air.

"Everyone out of the building!"

A blinding light is followed by the roar of a beast, throwing him back as the explosion ignites.

Everything goes dark.

* * *

Mulder blinks, pain searing behind his eyelids and distorted sounds filling his head; cries and coughs nearby. _How long has he been out?_

_There was another bomb_. The notion of what that means settles terror deep within him.

They were inside - Beckett… the NYPD and the FDNY. This is his fault.

He sits up slowly as he realizes that Diana is the one that's been pulling on him to wake up. The blast has been powerful enough to make the rest of the West wing disappear. The center of the building lies in layers, like a cake, and the East wing is now in flames.

"Mulder!" Diana calls out, snapping him out of the daze. "She took off after him."

He gets to his feet, trying to regain his balance and assessing the situation. He sees Skinner in the distance and the Fire Department scrambling to pull more lines into the building. There's no sign of Beckett, or even Castle. _He must have jumped in there_ , he thinks; it's what he would have done if Scully were the one in danger. Depending on where they were at the time, the chances of being alive are pretty slim.

"Fox!"

"I _know_!" He snaps at Diana, and angry eyes meet. He has to go after Ally before she does something really stupid. There's really nothing he can do for the people that are trapped inside, he tries to rationalize, even though this might have all been his stupid responsibility, or lack there of. He can deal with this later. He'll _have_ to deal with this later.

He takes off in the direction Diana saw her go with the woman in tow.

"In there!" she signals, seeing a broken door on the side of a warehouse. A few employees had already been out because of the commotion and now they stand about, stunned and confused.

"A man and a girl—" Mulder asks, breathless, to one of the shell-shocked men.

"Yeah, inside – they ran inside." The man points towards the warehouse.

"He must have dodged the magnetite," Diana ponders as they trot inside.

"He did, but he's wounded. Someone must have shot him inside the building," Mulder counters. He spotted the tale tell drops of green acid on the snow. "We can't let him loose, he's going to go after Scully. He'll go back to your bosses-"

A shot rings out through the air, coming from upstairs. They climb to the loft area of the industrial space, spotting Ally and Rohrer engaged in battle. She's lost her gun in the throw-down. Mulder runs toward them, jumping onto the man's back. Wounded or not, magnetite shower or not, he's still strong, and he throws Mulder around and against the back wall. Diana tries to overpower him as well, but Rohrer manages to shake her away, violently.

Ally gets up from the spot where she landed and goes back after the supersoldier; her fight is fueled purely by rage.

"Ally! Stop!" Mulder shouts, but she's beyond being rational. The man punches her mercilessly, blows to her center mass that he knows must be causing great damage; her screams pierce a hollow echo, bouncing off the walls, and blood drips from her mouth. He's killing her.

"You're supposed to die!" Ally screams, painfully, heartbreakingly, almost innocent in her desperation.

Mulder runs back to the scuffle, trying to disengage them, but the man rejects him with a well placed kick to his diaphragm while he drags and lifts Ally by the neck, hanging her out the loft's balcony and over the discarded pile of car parts the warehouse stores. She writhes and whimpers in his grasp, hands gripping the man's hand that chokes her but at the same time it's the one thing keeping her alive.

For all the strength that has always made her a giant, Mulder sees now what still lays underneath the fierce armor: the beautiful girl, the stubborn child, eyes for once filled with fear as she realizes her smarts won't save her now.

She won't ever plead though. Even when her eyes meet his and there's so much sorrow and terror.

_It can't end like this._

Knowle looks at Ally, like a lion playing with his food, and then back at Mulder with a sickening smile on his face…

And then he lets go.

" _No!_ " Mulder screams as Ally slips from his grasp.

But Rohrer is not quite done yet, turning to him, resolute and threatening.

"Wait!" Diana shouts. "Before you do anything… Don't you think I deserve the honors?"

The woman walks towards them, gun in a steady grip. He can't believe this. He's screwed this up beyond belief.

"Oh please, Diana," Knowle scoffs. "Cut the crap."

"Seriously, didn't I put them on a silver platter for you?" She walks closer, still aiming the gun at him while making her case. "The girl is most likely dead, and you've had your round with him already. I know I'm as good as dead, so let me have this one last pleasure?"

Her sultriness nauseates him. _How could he be so naïve?_

Knowle looks her up and down, seizing her gaze, considering her petition, and relaxes his stance.

"Sure, have your fucking way," he says with relish.

"Thank you. You're an honorable man, Knowle," she says, siding up to him, but lowering her right hand in a quick switch, producing another gun - a smaller one - shooting the man in his side.

Knowle falls immediately, contorting in pain and screams, sizzling and convulsing, dissolving into a mess of metal and flesh.

"What was _that_?" Mulder asks, shocked still, retreating from her.

"A fail safe," she explains, disengaging the spent casing. "I got my hands in one of these a few years back, just in case I ever got in the mood."

He's speechless. She reaches inside her pocket again and produces another bullet. A Magnetite filled bullet. She loads it in the gun and cocks it.

"What are you doing?" Mulder asks, cautious, short on breath, intoxicated with adrenaline.

"What I should have done before half of this disaster became my fault. I should have faced reality ages ago."

She lifts the gun to her temple, the barrel pushing on her skin.

"Diana, don't - take my offer," Mulder takes a step towards her, but she retreats, lifting a hand to him, signaling him to stop. "We can—Please."

"Fox, be realistic. You know it'll never work," Diana says with a smile, a single tear spilling from the sides of each of her eyes, on a slow dance down the sides of her face. "Take care of your family, you're very close to having it all -in reality - and not just a dream."

He looks at her, eyes piercing and bold; this time, _his_ Diana will really be gone. If there are other replicants, it won't be this one. The one that just saved his life. The one that saved his team and was still able to be human despite the horrors.

"Don't remember me like this," she requests. He slowly nods as he lifts his hand over his face, closing his eyes. In the dark, he hears as she pulls the trigger, a small blow and a whimpered protest and then the dull sound of the gun hitting the weathered wood of the floors.

When he braves opening his eyes… She's nothing but a shapeless memory at his feet.

He lifts his gaze, the balcony before him. He needs to retrieve his girl.

His rushed and painful steps are timed with the repetition of a mantra in his head. _Let her be alive._

The workers of the warehouse have returned and stand around the pile where she lays.

"Get out of my way." He pushes through. "Get away!"

He leans over her, carefully, a sob breaking him in half. Mulder touches her bloody face, gentle, as his tears stream down, stinging his skin, clouding his vision, and falling on her.

_He failed her._

_He failed her._

_He failed her._

His sob transforms to a muted gasp as he lowers his head to her chest, resting over her, guarding the soul he couldn't save.

He almost misses it: the smallest of movements when she breathes in.

"You think William still has some batteries in that magic wand?" She says between coughs and painful moans, startling him back from his grief.

Mulder laughs, a full throaty laugh.

"I thought you were gone," he says, biting his lip.

She throws him a painful and bloody smile.

"You're not getting rid of me yet."


	42. Chapter 42

DEC. 23RD. 2012  
12TH PRECINT – NEW YORK, NY  
NOON

Gates circles the table in the interrogation room. Her own anger is taunting her, threatening its way out, but she tries to contain the irrational tendency within.

Curtis remains calm, stoic even, a sickening calmness broken by occasional bursts of screams and maniacal laughter. She doesn't know if he's paving the way to claim insanity; all she knows is that this man almost killed every man and woman from her precinct.

"Mr. Weaver, I strongly suggest you accept the help of the public defender the District Attorney assigned to you," she recommends, but in reality she wishes that she could just let him burn. He should have been inside that building, instead of the people that suffered the consequences of his madness.

It's been a whole day and a half of putting up with his act. The 22nd had gone by like a blur for her, assessing the damage, making calls, and making sure that they'd done all the necessary handholding. But enough is enough. She can't let this man continue wasting their time. If anything, after everything that has happened, the value of time is now even more present for Victoria Gates.

"Take the help. It will make this process easier to digest. Weigh in your options, not that you really have any." She finally takes a seat in front of the cuffed man. "You're just lucky that New York no longer has the death penalty."

"I don't need a lawyer, because no matter what, like you said, I'm going to get canned," he starts, explaining his logic almost rationally. "You're all in on this; the writer, everyone that stormed our sanctuary… come to think of it, I believe that I could get away with suing the state for violating my religious rights."

"Mr. Weaver, you are being charged with kidnapping, unauthorized possession of war weaponry, including an alarming amount of explosives that your followers used to inflict damage to not only public property, but killing dozens, including members of the NYPD, FDNY, FB -"

But he cuts her off.

"We wouldn't have if you'd respected private property!"

"You were holding two people against their will, Weaver!" Gates has had it with the political correctness and slams her fist against the metal surface of the table. "We had sufficient proof of it."

"Bullshit!" He screams and spits at her.

She gets up from her seat, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and wiping her face.

"This is the thing, Curtis," she calmly states, piling up her substantiation. "We have enough evidence to prove that the shooters at the diner belong to your group. Those men killed the Van De Kamps… We found their van in the complex; that was a dumb move. You're the leader of this group, and it doesn't look good."

He looks away, stubborn.

"Likewise, we have testimony from Mr. Richard Castle that attests to the fact that you were the one that ordered the strike to kidnap William Van De Kamp while we were transporting the minor. We also know about your _fire cleanse…_ " She leans onto the table, inches from his face, taunting him again. "It will be a hard day in court for you to convince a jury that you're not involved when there's enough documentation over the years to prove that you are obsessed with him."

"That you _were_ obsessed with him," she corrects herself. "You're a coward, Weaver. And you killed the object of your obsession."

The man bites his lips, pulling on his restraints while letting out a piercing scream that's overheard all the way throughout the fourth floor.

"You're just shit out of luck that you also managed to detonate the bomb that sealed your fate in front of a federal officer who won't hesitate to give us a statement." She turns to look at her reflection in the two-way mirror. Behind it, Skinner and Beckett are listening to her session, the effects of the events evident on them.

"That little stunt—Getting those girls to distract the officers? - You're going to pay for it. This is a slam dunk case if you ask me," Gates says, straightening up and crossing her arms.

"What about the people _you_ killed?" He asks, lifting his eyes to her, vile and defiant. "Are you being held accountable for those deaths? Is _Mulder_ being held accountable?"

"Mulder?" She humors him. "Is that another _ghost_ in your head?"

"This is pointless," he scoffs, exasperated and irate. "You're all in on this."

"The truth of the matter, Weaver," Gates says, walking towards the door. "It's that we have enough to _can_ you for more counts than I've _ever_ accused anyone, and plenty of evidence-"

"Captain… you think this is over now that _your_ detective has aided them?" He laughs, interrupting her. "If it's not me, it will be someone else. It never ends. I love William… and I didn't kill him, if he's indeed even dead."

Gates raises an eyebrow and opens the folder she's been holding throughout.

"I'll just leave this picture here for you then." She slides the print out of a charred body, small enough to be a child; the face of the remains frozen in a carbonized scream of pain.

* * *

Skinner takes a deep breath, sliding a hand over his bald head.

"He's right," he laments, siding up next to Beckett in the observation room. "There are a million and one doom groups out there. It's just a matter of time before someone else comes up with a new threat, someone else to harass, someone else to victimize."

Kate looks at the man in the box. Deranged and hysterical as Gates leaves him behind.

"But we have one less on the streets that won't come after _him_ ," she says, just above a whisper, finding the silver lining before she leaves him behind, a slight limp in her stride.

Gates joins Skinner then, obviously still reeling after her exchange with Weaver, the tension rolling in waves.

"Why must the most innocent ones be their targets? Whether they are their recruits or their subjects of _adoration.._." She sighs. Gates signals Skinner as she exits. "Smith, walk with me."

The precinct is somber and in mourning. This is a day that will never be forgotten, and even the daylight seems to shy away from filtering through the windows; the air is unusually cold, the space is unusually silent.

"This case has taken quite a toll on everyone; on the city, on us… it definitely did not fare as we had hoped. We owed much more to William Van de Kamp, and to every innocent that died in that building. This is a huge failure to this force."

They enter her office, closing the door behind them.

"Captain Gates, you've probably been in the NYPD over twenty years now, right?" Skinner observes.

"Going into more details would probably reveal my age so, sure, lets leave it at that." She allows herself a small smile though she really doesn't look like she's up for humor this afternoon.

Skinner braces his hands to the back of her visitor's chair, gripping the leather under his fingers.

"In the time I've been with the FBI, not only have I learned that _pure justice_ is not possible, but I've also learned that sometimes the right justice comes from means that are far from a black and white approach." She takes a seat while he continues. "The secret is to learn to live with the odd ends of those choices."

"Yeah, the secret… the choices…" She leans back, pondering, but leveling him with a look over the rim of her glasses. "The secret to my job is pursuing the truth."

He nods absentmindedly.

"That's a fluid concept," he counters, not shying away from her restrained jab.

"I have to thank you for the assistance of your people and the components that participated in the raid," Skinner continues. "I know that it doesn't sound like a success with so many casualties but this is a huge and crippling hit to this cult. It brings us one step closer to disbanding it. There's a positive side to this."

She nods, pensive, too.

"How is Agent _Miller_ doing?" Gates asks, taking her glasses off, her movements calculated and precise.

"He will be okay," Skinner assures, biting his upper lip. "I trust that in a few days he'll be up and running to the next mission."

"I'd like to send him a 'Get Well Soon' card," she probes and he clears his throat.

"I'll extend your well wishes to him. I'm afraid he's not reachable."

Victoria Gates gets up from her seat and slowly circles her desk to lean against the corner of it.

"Is that right?" she considers, crossing her arms across her chest. Skinner shrugs, expressionless; he won't be the one to give it away. She extends a hand to him, nonetheless. "I can't say it's been a pleasure, _Smith_ , but let's just say that it's been interesting."

"Likewise," Skinner shakes her hand, firmly. "You have a great group here - brave men and women - you're lucky."

"I am," she sighs, chancing a look at the bullpen. "Even when we're one detective short."

"It could have been more," Skinner says.

"It's one too many," she counters.

"We are in your debt," he says.

He wonders sometimes about the resentment that they may be creating in their wake. They've gone through so many situations where the aftermath has been mild, manageable, but will that always be the case? They're preparing constantly for the greater threats, the ones that are larger than life… but what about the small, unintended consequences?

"Say, Deputy Director… If I ever were to need to cash in that debt…" Gates throws out, challenging. "Would I really find you in the Hoover Building's directory?"

Skinner meets eyes with her. He won't fall for it and she knows it.

"I think you have a precinct that's expecting you. I won't keep you from your duties."

He opens the door, gentlemanly, inviting her out of her own office.

* * *

Kate stands next to the murder board, taking down the headshots and erasing the notes after she took a picture for archives. Not that there will be anything left to refer to this case. She's thankful that LT and Hastings had the presence of mind to keep enough of the evidence they took to be able to secure Weaver's conviction. Whatever is missing, she's sure she'll be able to justify. Those guys have earned her praise, but she doesn't know if she's too proud of her own actions.

Her side contracts, the bandage circling her ribcage is tight and she knows that it will hurt for a long time. Just like it did after her surgery not too long ago. The burns on her arm will heal, and so will the bruises on her back. She was lucky that the concrete beams didn't kill her as they collapsed around her when the bomb went off. She was lucky that the damn ankle bracelet they had put on had come to use just in time. If it hadn't been for that, if it hadn't been for Skinner calling Ryan to trace her frequency… She doesn't know if she'd be here today.

It could have been different. She could be dead, like all the others.

Bruises mar her hands from trying to scratch her way out of the debris of the building; she can still taste the dust and smoke in the back of her throat. She knows it will be a phantom reminder for days or even weeks to come, until she's over it. _If she ever gets over it._ Her eyes hurt from crying, lack of sleep, and she resents everyone and everything in the current state of exhaustion she's in.

It all unfolded like a blur; just moments, before she felt the shake of the building. The black dust that hung in the air, thick, and then the supersoldiers started to feel the effects of the magnetite nearby. Esposito shot, point blank, but the damage wasn't enough. Ironically, the explosion that almost killed them must have been more like an atomic bomb for those monsters. It was daunting to her, but she'd carried on, blocking any way they might try and weasel their way out. She'd shot the ones trying to escape and they had melted away while the building crumbled around them.

There was no evidence left, but for some weird marks on the ground that no one would question. Ever.

She'd heard Javier scream to her left just before everything came down, her heart had pounded away, scared, not believing for a minute that this was her time to go.

The dry rap of knuckles on wood breaks her away from her thoughts, just in time, before she drives herself into the anxiety attack that has been threatening her ever since she was released from the hospital.

"People… May I have your attention?" Gates asks, even though she doesn't really need to request it. Everyone is expecting this moment of the day, when they recount the losses and lie themselves into believing that they've done right. That they did all that they could.

"After some consideration and chatting with my colleagues from the other participating precincts, it goes without saying that we should talk about the events and not sweep them under the rug." The faces of her cohorts mirror her own state of mind - A little bit jaded, a little exhausted, a little vacant, and a lot of hurt. "Each precinct had its own hits. The family of the 12th will always mourn those loses from our extended family; each member of the NYPD is a brother, each member of the FDNY, a loved one. The fact that today some of them are not here with us… is a tragedy."

Castle sides in next to her, finally arriving back after she had convinced him that a shower, a shave and some food would do him good. He'd called Alexis and Martha from the hospital, not being able to keep them in the dark about his whereabouts any longer, especially with the news covering the explosion. They'd wanted to come in, same for her father, but she and Castle had downplayed it for them. They weren't ready to face the music on that end. The questions will come soon enough. No need to rush those, she thinks.

He puts her coffee traveler and her lunch on her desk behind her, trying to not disturb Gates' speech, carefully grazing the small of her back as he retreats his hand.

The gesture alone grounds her, warms the ice that still lives in her insides.

"I know that for some time the absence of one of our detectives will be very noticeable."

Kevin lowers his gaze, guilt written all over his face.

"And while a replacement will be hired, and we will carry on, we mustn't block ourselves from honoring our fellow brother in arms."

Javier nods, agreeing absentmindedly with his Captain as he taps on the fiberglass cast on his left arm.

"This is why the New York Police Department will deliver the honorable purple shield to Detective Alfred Sole's widow, bestowed upon him because of his brave and selfless acts in the line of duty, and for the ultimate sacrifice in the pursuit of justice."

There's a collective sigh, a sad one, released by everyone in the room, even Skinner, who's witness to the toll and pain that they've inflicted upon this family.

"I'm sure that he's half-heartedly growling wherever he is…" Karpowski quips from behind her desk, adjusting the sling she dons. A few older detectives throw her a dirty look that she doesn't seem to mind.

"Any how. We're making arrangements to have it delivered to his family at his funeral." Gates clarifies. "It'll be much more personal and intimate than any ceremony at One PP."

A few officers huddle around the desks as LT brings a round of coffee for his mates. He listens carefully, just like the rest of the team.

"I want to personally commend the work of the whole department," Gates continues, meeting eyes around the room. "Under the crushing circumstances and the personal component, I know it was no small feat. It's not a secret to anyone that Detective Beckett was an unshakeable leader as she steered this operation in collaboration with the FBI to not only disband this criminal organization but to do our best to rescue the victim and one of our own."

Skinner nods at Beckett from across the room and Castle whispers to her, surprised. "Did she just-"

"Shush!" Kate rushes to shut him up.

"While we cannot celebrate the total success of this mission, I want everyone to have the certainty that we did everything that we could have done to bring William Van De Kamp back alive." Heads hang in shame, and Kate has to look away. She can't take this; she can't take the lie that she's going to have to keep up for the rest of her existence. "Life, well, sometimes it just isn't simple, but it is up to us to do everything we can to bring justice for him. We are the voice of these victims."

Thoughtful nods come from all sides, deep in reflection; everyone is lost in the silent prayer for a soul that they mourn unnecessarily.

"This operation didn't bring only somber notes, though. Despite how weird it feels to celebrate at this time," Captain Gates considers, "after receiving a glowing review by your senior supervisors, Officer Anne Hastings and Officer Tolliver will enter the probationary period for their promotion to a Detective position. If you're interested that is…"

"Hell yeah…" Anne mutters to LT, allowing them a moment of levity.

"I thought so," Gates nods. "Officer Velazquez will also be receiving a commendation for her aid in apprehending Curtis Weaver."

Kate chances a look at Hastings and watches as she squeezes her friend's hand. Velazquez lifts her head proud, though Kate knows that the woman must feel incredibly guilty.

When Kate had come back to the precinct around nine p.m., she'd found the three of them huddled in the break room. Velazquez was beating herself up, claiming that she could have done better, that she could have found that trigger. LT had also blamed himself for it. They were both in charge of handling the suspect and they'd made a rookie mistake. Even when the bomb squad had explained, they weren't willing to walk away from accountability. The slim device was sewn onto the fabric of Curtis' shirt, small enough and flat enough to not be detectable with gloved hands… it wouldn't have been noticeable on a pat down. Kate had tried to put the officers' minds at ease, but the guilt will always be there.

"Detective Karpowski... " Gates says finally, approaching the woman. "It's been an honor sharing ranks with you. Your transfer to the senior Detective position at the Homicide Department of the 118th has been recommended. I don't doubt that you'll be approved after everything is said and done."

"What?" Esposito reacts, surprised.

"Hey man, closer to home..." she justifies, shrugging. "Gotta catch 'em flying."

"You're delusional if you think you're gonna be catching sleep as a senior over there," Esposito counters.

"Hey, Hey- guys," Beckett calls out, making them settle down. "Congratulations, Karpowski. You will be missed."

"Thank you, Beckett." The women shake hands, honest regard in their faces. "Thank you, Captain."

"Okay, everyone," Gates announces. "Get back to it, and to those of you that are taking off for the holidays, have a restful time with your families."

Kate sees the group disperse, not much merriment is going around, despite the decorations and the date, because of what she brought onto them. Skinner has scurried out without her noticing, but she's sure that this is not the last that she'll see of him.

"Beckett, Castle… could I see you both in my office?" Gates calls, and Castle meets worried eyes with her.

"That was very kind, Sir," Beckett says, clearing her throat shyly as they enter the woman's office. "Thank you for those words to the team."

"Nothing to get too choked about," Gates dismisses. "I meant it. Your work as the leader of this body of detectives is essential."

Victoria motions for them to take a seat.

"Ever since I joined this position I've admired your work, despite the roughness of some of situations we've faced. I know we're both not the most easy going of people…" Gates perches on the edge of her desk. "But I do admire your thirst for justice and your need to uphold the law at any cost… which is why I'm very surprised by the events and outcome of this case."

"Well, just like you said, it wasn't easy-" Kate starts, but Gates shakes her head until her words die down.

"William Van de Kamp, he's alive isn't he?" She asks, and Beckett feels like the room starts to spin around her.

"Captain Gates," Castle intervenes, cautious. "If I may…"

"You may try, Mr. Castle, but I doubt that you're going to convince me of the long list of lies that surround this case and the operation that took place in that complex."

Castle swallows, thick. He meets Kate's eyes, and she knows that look. He's terrified.

"I made a few calls. I have my own friends at the FBI, and there's no Deputy Director Smith… or Special Agent Miller under his supervision." As much as Beckett feels like Gates is about to blow a gasket, there's an underlying tone to her arguments that doesn't quite tell her that she's completely oblivious to the reasoning behind their actions. _But just how much does she know?_

" _Miller_ is this 'Mulder' that Weaver keeps screaming about, isn't he?" Gates throws in.

She knows enough, then.

"Sir," Beckett starts again, trying to find a way to explore the subject, skirting the unlikely parts of the story. _So avoid most of it, Kate_ , she argues with herself.

"I might also want an explanation about how there are pictures of a charred body that has been identified as William Van de Kamp, and the fact that the so-called drawings… have gone missing from evidence lockup."

Castle swallows thickly, and Beckett feels the blood lay still in her veins. The captain shakes her head, and the detective braces for the worst.

"Here's the deal, detective," Gates carries on, and Kate realizes that in reality, she's not expecting rationalization of the events. "I'm knee deep into this because I allowed it. I saw- I knew that this situation, the attack, the kidnapping… all of it, painted to a bigger scheme than the story I was introduced to by those two men in this office."

"If you knew it was a lie, the why did you allow it?" Kate asks.

"Because you're gutsy, but you're not unfair," Gates counters with an answer that tears her in half. "Because I saw real fear in your eyes, and desperation when putting together that strike team yesterday…"

Gates lifts a hand as if struggling to find the real words, but sighing at a simple statement that closes it all.

"In short, Detective Beckett… Because I trust you."

Kate sinks in her chair, briefly meeting eyes with her partner. Gates walks to her window. The snowfall has started again.

"Is the boy alright?" She asks.

"He is." Castle answers this time, taking the spotlight away from Kate for a change. "He's with the right people now."

"And this man, Weaver… are we making a mistake?" Gates asks, turning around and leveling with them.

"No, Captain Gates…" Castle takes it away again. "We're not. He could actually be blamed for an even longer list of crimes, worse crimes."

"He's wanted in various states; no judge or jury will give him a way out," Kate completes.

Gates nods, considering their answers, pensive, and Kate can only imagine what's going through her head. She wonders what Montgomery would have done in this case. Kate thinks that she'd have told him the truth - It guts her that she realizes that she put so much trust in a captain that hid so much truth from her, and this captain before her… has just put everything on the line out of blind trust in her.

"Very well," Victoria Gates announces, resolute from her chair. "See that Weaver is not disturbing any other detainees, and finish processing him. If he still refuses to get legal aid, and we're done with him, I see no reason why we should continue to host him."

She really can't believe her luck… but is it really luck, when there's complete awareness of her deceit?

"Yes, sir." She nods and gets up intending to leave the room.

"Kate, one last thing," Gates stalls her, and then looks at her partner, leveling him with a look. "If you could give us a moment, Mr. Castle."

He doesn't need to be asked twice. Castle exits the room, closing the door behind him carefully, and meeting eyes with Kate nervously through the glass before she turns her attention back to the other woman in the room.

"You'll make one hell of a Captain one day," Gates states, surprising her with where this conversation may lead. "You're resilient and know how to pick your battles. Montgomery did good with you. He groomed you well. Is that where you want to go?"

_Is that where she wants to go?_ She asks herself that from time to time, and the thought fills her with anxiety.

"Are you planning on retiring?" She asks, releasing a tired breath.

"Not any time soon, but there's a reason behind this question." Gates voice is thoughtful, warm. She's taken off the authority hat for this part of the conversation. "I'll just give you a piece of advice, Beckett."

"I cherish the amount of trust you put on your team, and what I know must have been a difficult decision; to take the leap and put it all on the line to do what you deemed was fair." The woman's eyes bury into hers. "I'm sure our justice system might not understand whatever specifics went into this boy ending up in this situation."

She twines her fingers, examining her nails and taking a deep breath. One that's full of regret.

"But people died, including one of our own," Victoria laments, bringing up the contradicting part of the aftermath. "Granted, this could have happened in any ordinary raid, a search or a take down, but that wasn't the case. You took it us into a very unorthodox ride that had fatal consequences."

Beckett takes a shuddering breath, trying to hold herself together for the rest of this conversation. It doesn't quite matter whether her job is safe or not, that she's back home safe and alive; it's what she's going to have to carry with her.

"Kate, I'm not blaming you for Sole's death, don't get me wrong, I know where the responsibilities lie; but if you're going to be pitching for the long run, I advise that you figure out how to get a grip on your tendency to be driven by your weaknesses." Gates throws a look at the bullpen- at Castle – who's engaged in a quiet conversation with Kevin and Javier. "And we both know there was a particular weak spot for you in this case and that _that_ was the real reason for you to take such a risk."

She bites her lip, not quite knowing what to counter with. This charade is about to turn into something they won't be able to keep a secret anymore. Castle was the reason she pushed through this whole situation, yes, but so was the encounter with a reality that she'd never thought she'd face. It wasn't just a search for justice, to beat a crazy man that played with people's lives under the guise of a belief, but also because a little boy made her challenge hers.

"It's just a piece of advice, Beckett…" Gates eyes are back on hers. "I commend you for figuring out how to be the knight in the shining armor for some."

There's a whimsical smile behind those words; a slight raise of eyebrows that speak of understanding. There's relief.

"Thank you, Sir," Kate responds. "Though. I'm not done as a detective, there's work to be done."

Gates gives her a half smile. When did this woman learn so much about her? So much has happened while she wasn't looking.

"Very well," She motions her out of the room. "I shouldn't expect this Diana woman to come ask for her _nephew_ , correct?"

"We hope not, Sir." Kate shakes her head as she reaches the door and Gates nods tiredly again. _So many lies, so little time._

"Finish your business. I'll see you back for your Christmas Eve shift." And Kate Beckett knows that this is probably the last that Victoria Gates would ever want to know about an operation that almost crippled the NYPD.

* * *

"Do you want a cup of tea while in the tub?" Castle asks her sweetly while she carefully undresses. She'd fantasized about the moment he returned to her, and in her head it went nothing like this. She wasn't this beat up and hurt. This emotionally exhausted. She was another person then. They were other people.

She gives him a sad smile through the mirror.

"No," she says, shaking her head, turning around to let him roll the bandage off her body. "But I would love a cup of hot chocolate - extra marshmallows."

He kisses her lips, tenderly smiling at her and drawing a smile out of her as well.

"Coming right up," Castle quips, balling up the bandages and tossing them in the hamper. "Start the bath, I'll bring it to you in there."

She nods as he exits her room, her attention drawn back again to her reflection. So many bruises have emerged since she dressed last night in the bathroom of the precinct. She gathers that tomorrow the pain and soreness will be even worse, when all the remnants of adrenaline and the hospital-grade painkillers will be gone from her system.

Kate places a hand between her breasts out of habit, caressing the spot; _how can you miss something that you hated?_ She knows she's better off, but did William know what it would mean for her to not have this reminder anymore? The boy took away a scar that was an excuse to feel weak, a shadow where she could hide… After this, she realizes that whatever excuses she built for herself to shy away from living fully, those excuses… they're not enough to make her not live her life like she should, to fight her demons face first, and to enjoy what and whom she deserves.

"I hope you're okay, wherever you end up, little boy," she whispers as tears flow uncontrollably, evolving into shaking sobs, wrecking through her. Her legs weaken as her emotions take over, every part of her coming down with the enormous weight of the events. She can finally allow herself the full blow.

She doesn't hear him come in.

"Are you okay?" Castle's hand is gentle at her back, warm and coaxing, loving and full with care as he pulls her into his lap, sitting on the floor with her.

"Sorry, I got caught up… thinking…" She wipes her tears, burying her face in the crook of his neck. His smell is reassuring, is everything that she never knew she was missing in life. It's been months of relishing in it, and she knows that she's never going to be able to quit this addiction.

"Thinking about?" He pushes the strands of hair away, clearing her face, giving respite from the suffocating feeling of her tears caught up in her throat, pushing her to use her words, like he always does.

"Everything, nothing..." She takes a deep breath, a sobering one, trying to pin her breakdown down, under a veil of lack of importance. "I just can't believe we went through all of this."

"We have to find a way to move on, Kate," he says releasing a sigh. She knows he's trying too. To not let it consume him. "This… isn't any different than any of the other cases we've solved in the past."

She turns to him, mouth agape, surprised by his capacity to detach himself from it.

"Do you really think so?" She almost feels offended. "A ten year old healed my scar using his _powers_ , we partook with members of a global conspiracy, with rogue former FBI agents escaping alien-bred supersoldiers and then to top it all off, not only did we go about the most dangerous take down I've ever experienced in my life but I also had to put my team in danger… and I lied-"

He grabs her hand, stalling her rant, grounding her. His eyes tell her that he understands; he's just taking another road to the same town.

"You lied… Because of me," he states. "We talked about this; put it on me, let me share this weight."

She nods, eyes buried to the ground. The magnitude of all the things she actually put on the line because of him… she's never gotten to that point before. He's right. They do have to share this weight. She can't bear it alone; he won't let her... That's what partners are for.

"Gates," she breathes in, getting a grip on her emotions, slowly. "I think she knows…"

"About us?" he asks, a tinge of mortification in his voice, and she nods.

"If she doesn't have the certainty… she suspects it."

He smiles against her skin, pulling her tighter to him, dizzying her with his warmth. He takes her lips, drinking her in, the distinct flavor of rich chocolate that he must have sipped while filling her request. She smiles against his lips. _She's so enchanted by this man._

"We're doing a terrible job pretending like we don't love one another," he points out and she shakes her head.

"I don't love you," she claims, looking at him straight in the eye. "I'm in love with you."

He lets out a throaty laugh that sounds like relief.

"I'm never growing tired of hearing you say that." His blues shine like jewels with much adoration. So much that it's kind of overwhelming.

He gets up, offering her a hand to lift her off the floor and takes her to her bed, gently coaxing her to relax as they sit.

"Look," he begins. "I know this is hard on you - It's hard on me and I'm the open minded one of this pair," he humorously points out.

"I suspect we will be reeling for a while after this overload, but I promise you this." He takes her hand, kissing her bruised knuckles, carefully. "We will be thankful of having lived this. I'm a different person because of this, you're a different person because of it… and I don't think we'll regret it, even though things are not perfect - even when lives were lost."

She nods, sadly. He's right, and it's daunting that she has found a way into that detachment.

"I don't mean to belittle their existence… even though you know that Sole was a pain in the ass."

She punches him for that.

"Ouch!" he overreacts to it, full of humor as always. "My point is that if someone asked me tomorrow, right now, if I would be willing to relive this… if they could give me the certainty that I would come out of it - alive - to you… I would do it again. Without a doubt."

He's serene at the admittance. She's pondered about the nature of their relationship many times over the last few weeks; she pondered when she saw the way that Mulder and Scully put it all out there for the sake of having another day together. She pondered when she found herself feeling empty and strangely alone without him by her side, like a part of her had been cut off.

She pondered about it too when her judgment was blindsided by her feelings, when she used to take pride in never allowing herself to fall for that before.

"Kate, I can't regret anything that has put me back again, right here, with you," he states, resuming his thoughts, his voice just above a whisper and caught up with thick emotion.

She looks up at him and sees the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. It's such an intense sight that she feels her heart skip a few beats as her throat constricts, her body reacting to the powerful onslaught of Richard Castle.

"I'm right here with you." He kisses her forehead.

"I'm right here, Kate…" He draws a slow, careful caress of an Eskimo kiss along her skin.

Her breath catches and her heart rate soars as they drink each other's breath in.

His hand lowers in that familiar path over the softness of her chest.

"I'm here," he claims, pushing rough digits over her heart. And he is. He's there, deep in every pump of an overexcited muscle that was once set to fail.

She finds his lips and begins a careful exploration, nips that turn heated and hungry as he allows entrance to her tongue.

"You are..." she manages to say, trying to convey what her actions are struggling to paint.

Castle lowers her to the mattress; a shiver quivers through her and goose bumps adorn his skin. They lay side by side as she deftly rids him of his clothes, uncovering his golden skin. In the warm lightning of her room, their naked bodies glow with the exuberance of their passion, forgetting about bruises and traumas, forgetting about the world outside and threats unseen. Hands roam delicately but heated, kisses caress and drink from their thirst, satiating a hunger that she hopes will always remain like today, only transforming in richness and complexity. Growing unique. Becoming theirs.

When the reverent and dizzying moment comes, when they're finally one, complete certainty assaults her senses. He really is there with her, in every breath, in every pore of her skin, in every thought and every feeling that she has yet to discover. She really is there with him, in him, as she sees her reflection in his eyes; adored, cherished, and whole.

They take each other's fire, consuming it, until there's no more than blind incommensurable love.

* * *

DEC. 24TH, 2012  
CHURCH OF THE BLESSED SACRAMENT,  
152 W. 71ST ST. NEW YORK, NY

The church is tastefully decorated; everything is ready for the Christmas celebrations, busy and cheerful as the families of parishioners walk out of the ten a.m. mass. The light filters through the stained glass rosette, painting the rocks of the walls with its colors. Candles glow, flickering and filling the majestic temple with a warm glow. The smell of the pine garlands is strong, but it reminds her of her childhood.

Monica and John stand to the side, silently admiring people's best outfits, on display for the occasion. Children are on their best behavior, women proud and tall with tailored smiles, men… that are just barely playing the part… So is the life at the churches of the Upper West side, she thinks.

"I'm going to take a peek," John announces, but he really just wants to go kneel for a while, mutter to himself those prayers he learned ages ago; they bring him some sort of reassurance.

Her husband may not believe in many things, he has no proof that a god even exists, but _this_ he believes in; the relief of old habits and tradition. Such is faith, she ponders. So many years together and she's still amused by his contradictions.

"This is an interesting choice for a meet up." Beckett's voice draws her out of her reverie.

Monica answers back with nod and a smile. Just in time. She wouldn't have expected any less from the woman before her. Her writer… _Hmm, not so much._

"I've always liked the architecture, and John- well, he's a church boy… or was a church boy," Monica tells her, taking a stab at his expense. "He wanted to get some sins off his chest before Christmas."

"You don't practice?" Castle inquires, as they walk down the aisle, the space much emptier now. She shakes her head, ushering them to sit in one of the pews away from John, giving him some privacy. The detective before her looks tired but calm at the same time; the effects of the collapse of the building visible on scattered bruises she's trying to hide. They'd heard the explosion, it was hard to miss. When they came back to the site, in the middle of the confusion, John and Monica feared the worst.

"Actually, as much as I based my life in studying rituals and religions, the truth is that I'm not a religious person… per se," Reyes explains. "If you were to qualify me and put me in a box, I guess I'd probably pick Buddhism or something."

Beckett nods, considering her answer.

"But, I didn't call you guys to talk about magical beings and such," she jokes. She can allow herself that today. They're not on a ticking clock, not anymore.

"I honestly thought that we'd never see you guys again," Castle confesses as he sees John approach them.

"We couldn't go away until we made sure the whole plan worked for everyone, well, as much as it could," Monica clarifies, and she knows that's a sore subject. "We didn't leave until we saw them pulling you out of the rubble. Until we knew you were safe."

"Yeah... I'm just fortunate." Beckett is somber on her. She didn't expect a different attitude; they didn't exactly part ways on the best of terms. She pushed buttons and the woman pushed back. Kate Beckett got to live when the people she meant to protect didn't.

Monica takes a deep breath and engages the woman before her.

"Kate… You have to believe us that we didn't go into this thinking that anyone's lives were less worthy than ours." Monica begins.

Beckett wets her lips, forcefully, and Monica gathers that it's a subconscious attempt to hold words the woman is struggling to keep back.

"I'm sorry that I was rough on you about those girls on the roof…" Reyes continues. Honestly, there may not be another opportunity to do this and she wants to do it right. "I wanted to explain then and I racked my brain around it, why I wanted to make you see our point and then... I realized that maybe I was also losing perspective of what our _own_ point was."

"You were right, though," Kate admits.

"Even so," Reyes allows. Beckett lifts her eyes to her now, attentive and alert.

Castle nods at her, coaxing her to continue. She's going to miss this guy, she admits to herself. He is a good tale mate.

"When John and I joined Mulder and Scully's mission, it had a clear objective and we were in another very different place than where we are right now; with our lives, with what's to become of us, of them, and what their own lives will be..."

Monica examines her hands, finding it hard to admit that she let herself be carried away by a mental state that drove them to cross limits that their old selves wouldn't have allowed.

"It's time for them to be what they want to be and for us to be what we want to be," John adds, joining in his wife's admittances.

"Following them worked for a while, don't get us wrong. We'd do anything for them," Monica continues. "But this whole last push, after we walked away from this wreckage, we found ourselves… lost."

The couple before them nods in understanding, but perhaps failing to see the objective of this meeting.

"After seeing your perspective of things, it reminded me- _us_ , that our lives aren't theirs, as much as our fight is the same," Monica argues, driving the point home.

"You need a break," Beckett discerns.

"That's a simple way to put it," John confirms, stretching his limbs and wincing at what must be a reminder of their _ride._

"Did Ally leave too?" Castle asks. Monica doesn't want to go into the detail of telling him how close they were to losing her. He doesn't need to know that, when they know that she'll be all right… at least physically. They all owe so much to William.

"They left together, but they won't be for long," Monica informs.

"She needs her own time to cast away some demons… find new purpose," John clarifies. "She needs to figure out what the future brings for her."

Castle nods, absentmindedly.

"She'll be alright," Monica assures him. She knows how attached the writer grew to the girl. She'd seen it in the brief time they'd related before the strike, and then when they made it out of the building. Being on the verge of death together does that to you.

"It seems like this _event_ shook your group in unexpected ways," Castle considers, meeting her eyes. And she can see how it can be seen under an unfavorable light, that they didn't remain together for the next chapter ahead.

"It doesn't quite mean that we won't be together again," she assures. "This was the ride that we set off for and we got them there, pushed them to _their_ next ride; other trips will surely come our way."

The church's choir starts to assemble again, quietly beginning a hymn, young voices filling the space with dulcet tones. That's their cue.

"Can we be in touch?" Beckett asks them, surprisingly, fidgeting with her gloves, not quite meeting her eyes as they rise from their seats. The next mass is about to start and the pews are beginning to fill.

"Would you want that?" Monica is cautious. She really believed that she'd shaken this woman's beliefs to the core, offended her, even.

"I don't see why not…" Kate shrugs, giving her a small shy smile. "I mean, I do, but I'd like to try to learn a thing or two from you guys."

Monica nods, surprised, now meeting eyes with her and the writer.

"Castle was the only one that had the opportunity to learn all these stories. I'd like to have the same chance if you'd allow it?" Kate requests, finishing her thoughts.

Monica responds with an inward smile; it amuses her but she can see where these two are birds of a feather.

"It would be our pleasure," she grants, shaking her hand.

"This," Doggett announces, producing a sealed blue envelope. "Scully and Mulder left it for you." Castle takes it, examining it briefly as the group starts their way out.

"Did they make it out in time?" Kate asks, and Monica nods her confirmation. The looming deadline of December 22nd had come and gone and they'd managed to dodge any real threats. It doesn't mean that the change of shift hasn't happened; it doesn't mean that the Shadow Government didn't follow through with their objective. They'll know, eventually. They'll see the signs when they come; some will come announced, others… will surprise them.

"Will we—What are we supposed to do about… you know… the other's coming into power?" Castle asks, trying to keep his voice low enough.

"For the general population, this is a fight that will continue under wraps," Monica explains. "For us – including you, if you choose to remain _in the know_ – it will always be a situation that we'll have to learn to navigate. It may be a thing that could escape our lifespan."

They really don't have any idea what their lives will be from now on. Maybe the Hollywood-like version of the end of days might be preferable, she thinks sometimes. One big predictable event, that comes and goes with plenty of signs preceding its wake. But this slow burn, this subtle invasion… it might be the worst thing that can happen. If Mulder, Scully, and William can't figure a way out of this – if they can't find a way to fight back… she doesn't want to think what will become of humanity.

Old women chat demurely as they cross paths with them, walking down the isle, ushering grandkids, talking about their plans for Christmas dinner, their weathered faces lit up with smiles. _A kinder crowd than the earlier one_ , Monica thinks. It is just so simple for some; she almost misses this.

"Will you guys stay in New York?" Castle asks as they reach the front entrance and stand on the outside steps, the winter wind welcoming them. She can see the worry set in Castle's features; the thing is: no one ever promised that their lives would be the same after this.

"No, but we already have a new route planned for us," Doggett responds, extending a hand to Beckett.

"It was a honor," he says with a kind smile.

The woman shakes his hand, thoughtfully, slowly regarding him with a sad smile.

"It really was," she says finally, letting go of his hand.

"Take care, Monica." The detective extends a hand to her as well but Monica pulls her into a hug, surprising her.

"I think we're beyond being formal." She raises an eyebrow to her and Kate nods with a soft scoff of amusement.

"Castle," Reyes prompts, arms open and the writer shyly smiles and hugs her as well.

"May I have your blessing to write a couple of characters inspired by an ex-NYPD badass and a new-age chick, turned FBI agents, who are now renegades, looking out for cosmic justice?" Castle asks adding on to the levity of the moment.

"I'm counting on it." Reyes laughs, chancing a look at John who rolls his eyes in fake embarrassment.

"We'll be in touch," John says, half laughing, shaking Castle's hand and ushering Monica down the stone steps.

They walk side by side, relishing in the brisk air around them and that's when Reyes realizes that for the first time in years, what lays ahead, at least for a while, really will be a question of choice and not of necessity.

* * *

Castle climbs into the Mercedes and straps the seatbelt, turning on the car and adjusting the heated air coming out of the vents. Kate sits beside him, deep in thought, but calm.

"Where do you want to go?" He asks. "My loft? Your apartment? Some last minute Christmas shopping?"

She takes a deep breath, considering her options, and what she really needs today.

"Hmm…The sun is starting to come out," Kate notes, looking out her window and appreciating the clear blue tint that starts to appear in between the clouds. "Maybe we could pay a visit to my mother's grave?"

She turns to him. Castle is looking at her with a mixture of awe and curiosity. It dawns on her that she's never taken him there. It was always her private moment, but she doesn't see the point in not sharing it anymore.

"I always go to tell her about my latest adventures, and I think this qualifies," she justifies, meeting his eyes and grasping his hand tightly.

He smiles back, leaning in to deliver a soft peck on her lips.

"Off we go then." He returns his attention to the wheel, but through the entire duration of the ride, he never lets go of her hand.

* * *

The hours and moments mixed together in the exhaustion of the last few pushes to make it out of the US and into Canadian territory, but that was more than a day ago.

Scully looks to her left to see the cuddling shapes of her husband and son; they're finally enjoying a nap while the plane climbs to cruising altitude. It's just them, the female pilot and a flight attendant in this private plane they managed to charter from Montreal. She keeps vigilant of their sleep, ever cautious, even up in the air.

Ally said goodbye to them just outside the city. Once they crossed the border, she'd figured out her plan pretty quickly; she said she might make it out to London and Paris sometime, and once in Europe they could meet anywhere.

The hours before they could take off were stressful, always looking over their shoulders, suspecting anyone and everyone. Her heart rate is just inching down to a slower pace, a pace where she can finally allow herself to entertain the idea that they might be safe, for now.

They're headed to a temporary retreat, but William already has them setting sights for Kyoto, Japan. They managed to put together some of the maps, studying them in the light of the recent events; if there's anything that they'll have to make peace with, it's the fact that plans will always be a fluid concept. Their meet with the _fighters_ will have to wait for now. Until they know that they're not being followed. Morocco is out of the question.

She'd called her mother before taking off. She was pissed. Scully expected it, but Maggie was relieved as well. Skinner was by her side, with news of a new situation, a better situation, for them all. She hopes she gets to see her again, and delight in the calming and nurturing warmth of her presence.

Maybe in the future.

She opens her journal, the battered notebook has seen better days, and now it has the telltale ridges of the ripped pages they sent to those two people, those who had so bravely faced the uncertainty, allowing her the ability to see these clouds billow about the sky they cruise, full of promises of what's to come.

Scully scratches the ridges, picturing it: Somewhere in New York, a detective and a writer sit side by side, reading from a wrinkled and ripped piece of paper adorned with her handwriting.

_"_ _Castle and Beckett,_

_If you're reading these words I trust that we've all made it out alive. Neither of us believes in goodbyes, but our son insisted; he's also writing this letter with us._

_We won't lie and be naïve, underplaying how much we owe you both. The mere fact that I can now write that I'm right beside the people I love the most is testament to my enormous debt to you both. We won't ever be able to repay you._

_I wanted to set your minds at ease. Detective Beckett, I know you are the perfect example of integrity and I'm honored that we were given the opportunity to go to war together. But we do apologize for bringing you into this war with us. I invite you, though, to see the hidden benefits in this clash of worlds we just faced."_

* * *

Somewhere in New York, Castle and Beckett step out of the car and walk hand in hand to Johanna Beckett's grave. The air is crisp and clean and the mood is serene.

The woman dusts the snow off of the engraved stone; there are no flowers to leave behind, but Castle already plans for a next time, when they'll pick beautiful lilies to adorn this beloved place of reverence.

He takes a step back as Kate starts to address her mom, as if she were in front of her, in a casual conversation. He wants to give her some privacy, but she keeps a soft grasp on the sleeve of his parka.

So he stays.

* * *

_"_ _As you should know by now, Monica and Doggett have decided to test the waters out there again, and so will Ally. So should you._

_Perhaps, in your case, it won't be in the form of the escape that we're orchestrating, or running away from routine and duty, but what if we told you that the sole purpose of this experience is that you question where you stand in life? What if I told you that all of this couldn't have happened if it weren't for both of yours tenacity, your thirst, your bravery and intelligence? Having a door opened to the knowledge we shared with you; will you two ever be the same people?_

_Will you stand up for the same beliefs? Is your existence the same from now on?_

_We have travelled a road that has left us a broader understanding of life, and at this stage, thanks to you, we've been granted a new dawn. I hope that as traumatic as it was, we gave you a gift that you two can value, whatever interpretation you give to it at the end of the day._

* * *

Kate continues her narration to her mother, abstract and without much detail; tears well in her eyes and his as he hears her voice her fears in a way of confession. Castle understands now; this is the place where she runs away to, where she'll always be safe to be a kid again, even though Johanna will never be able to answer soothing words back at her.

This is where a little girl runs to the safety of her mom's lap.

* * *

_"_ _We'll be in touch, and the least that we can vow to you is our protection. You're part of our family now._ _As understated as it sounds… Thank you..."_

Scully uncaps her fountain pen; she doesn't have a letter to write, but she doesn't want to forget how it feels to believe she can have it all again. How it feels to have ridden this ride, and see things from a perspective that challenged her once again.

William stirs in his father's embrace, and Mulder tightens his arm around him, protective, a soft smile forming on his lips.

She lived up to a promise, and Kate Beckett did as well.

* * *

In a snowy cemetery, a detective wipes stray tears from her cheeks. She turns to a writer by her side, knowing that they're up for a long, daunting and amazing ride. She nods and smiles to him; she's ready to go.

When they walk back, their steps synchronized and firm, he feels the rustle of paper in his pocket, a blue envelope with a message that awaits them.

She takes it from his hand and they settle against the hood of the car as she breaks the seal and extracts the notebook pages from it. The writer leans into her. They read, they smile; they sigh and snuggle into the side-by-side embrace.

The words fill them with the weight of their significance, with what they evoke, with the realization that they've been through an extraordinary encounter.

" _We_ _hope you can find the essence of it all. And we hope you never lose that…_ _Hope_ _._

_Forever in your debt,_

_Us."_

The writer tightens his arm around the woman, nuzzling the fine hairs on her temple. She turns her head to him, eyes searching his intensely. _Maybe she's found it already_ , she thinks as she takes his lips. He smiles at her, serene. They'll be alright. No matter what comes their way.

Kate folds the letter carefully, putting it back into the blue envelope and tucking it into her pocket, struck by Scully's words.

It is a new dawn, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> And so this is the end.
> 
> I re-read it many times along the way and I can't believe that today is the last day I will write "The Essence of Existence" - I have to say, it feels like a part of me didn't quite get I will have to let go.
> 
> Up until the very last line of this chapter, I was "fighting" with Ky over the perfect ending. She blamed one word, I blamed her thoughts being erased by William and Ally. All in all... a two year + ride that remained the same for us throughout the entirety of it. It started with me saying: "What if..." and it ended with Ky mentioning: "Well, what if I want a sequel?"
> 
> I don't think I'm quite ready for it. But I'll be honest, there's just so much more I can write about this bunch and this universe.
> 
> Eventually I'll write all the one-shots people asked me for.
> 
> To all of you that have followed this story, thank you SO VERY MUCH. Each review was great, and thoughtful, and filled with so much rich meaning for the betterment of my own writing process. Many of those reviews are here, others are on my Facebook or Twitter. I have to say, many of you served me with such high praises, encouraging words about this story, truly getting what I was trying to convey and really getting the reason why I even began writing it. Every sacrifice that was made so I could write it, was completely worth.
> 
> Thank you to DancingDragon42 for giving me an excuse to write this. Thank you to the usual suspects that went into crazy stunts to read the posts as they came online; thank you to my Unicorn. Without you, I'd be in where I should have been on. I will Always deliver all the feels you shall need.
> 
> Sometimes people write out of fun, boredom or necessity... sometimes people write to feel alive in a million different ways. I like to think I do it for the latter.
> 
> Here's hoping that the next one up is an even more thrilling ride.
> 
> BWJ - Avi Quijada

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have to admit I'm having way too much fun writing this one and disregarding a couple of other stories I have in progress, so DancingDragon42 I hope you enjoy it. Quite a few parts to be posted, the first 4 are ready to go, so I'll have you covered for the rest of the month AT LEAST!
> 
> I hope you guys like this, I'd love to hear some reviews for sure. X-Files is my absolute first love, Castle is like my affair, so I also hope I do this justice. This won't be family fic, sorry guys, I can read those, I can't write those.
> 
> Thanks to Ky & Tiff who have been my betas. Ky is the Hitler of commas and stuff, so thank her for good grammar LOL


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